Serendipity
by TheREALCarbyLove
Summary: Serendipity: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.
1. Impossible

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Title: Serendipity 

Author: Andrea 

Rating: R. It's probably more like PG or PG-13 at the moment … but I like to have the freedom to be as 'mature' as I want to be. 

Summary: Serendipity: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for. 

Author's Notes: Same story, different day? You be the judge. As my pen name suggests, I generally write Carby stories. But this one's really more of an Abby. Big ups to COURTNEY and LISA for the brainstorming, reading, and editing. You know I couldn't do it without you. Well, okay, maybe I *could,* but it wouldn't be nearly as much fun. Oh, and hey, if you enjoy it and appreciate the time that went into writing it, please take a minute to review. The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to keep writing and get something else posted quickly. 

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Serendipity

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Chapter 1: Impossible

"Abby." The voice barely penetrates the deep abyss of sleep that I've sunk into. 

"Abby!" My name. Someone is calling my name. 

"Abby, wake up." 

"Uhnn … I … uhh," I mumble something in response to the voice, hoping it'll go away, as I burrow my head into the pillow. 

"Abby." The voice is stern now. "You have to get up." But I don't want to. I'm not even sure if I can. My body, heavy with sleep, seems immovable. My eyelids must weigh a hundred pounds. There's no way I can possibly pry them open. 

"I don't wanna go to school, Mom. I don't feel good." I manage to slur out the words somehow. 

This inspires a short chuckle. "I'm not your mom, Abby. And you're not late for school. There's a trauma rolling in with your name on it." Suddenly the lights flash on. 

"Uhn," I groan, throwing my arm protectively over my eyes.

"C'mon, you have to get up. I know you don't feel well, but hell, neither do I, and I'm the one that's been covering for you for the last six hours. It's not nice -- making a pregnant lady do all your work."

I slowly open one eye, peering through the barely-parted lashes. Susan. She's standing over me and looking … well, not terribly happy. "Have I really been asleep for six hours?" I croak out. "I was just going to take a little nap." I manage to open my eyes completely, blinking against the harsh lighting in the room.

"Ha. Nap, my ass. You've been out like a light. This is the third time I've tried to wake you up. You were so zonked out the last time that I took your pulse, just in case."

"Am I dead?" I struggle to sit up. No, guess I'm not dead yet. 

"I don't think so. But you might be, if you don't get back to work." 

"I can't help it that I'm sick," I tell her petulantly. This whole getting up thing might be easier if the room would stop spinning. 

"Yeah, and I'm pregnant." 

"Second trimester," I point out, swinging my legs around to the side of the gurney. 

"So?"

"So, that's supposed to be a breeze. And pregnancy's not an illness. You're not sick. _I'm _sick."

She slaps her hand across my forehead. "No fever. You're fine. Get up." 

"Geez, Susan, thanks for the compassion. God, you've become so callous. I thought motherhood was supposed to bring out the nurturing side." 

"Well, I'm not _your _mother. But I am tired. And cranky. And hungry. God, what I need is a giant burrito. Drenched in salsa, with some melted cheese."

"Please don't mention food," I ask of her, wishing that my stomach would stop rolling. Maybe if the dizziness would go away, it would help. I stand up slowly, leaning against the gurney for support. This sucks. I hate being sick. I wish parents wouldn't feel the need to bring their contagious kids to the ER so that we can tell them that little Tommy has a stomach bug and to take him home and feed him clear liquids until he stops barfing. Ah, well, goes with the territory. And if I'm entirely honest with myself, I have to admit that I'd probably be just as bad if I had kids of my own. I can just picture myself running to the pediatrician for every last little thing, in spite of my own professional qualifications. Abby Lockhart, overprotective mother. 

I catch myself, surprised at my train of thought. What brought _that_ on, I wonder. I don't usually sit around pondering what kind of mother I would make. Talk about pointless. But there are these images hovering around on the periphery of my mind. I realize, belatedly, that I'd been dreaming when Susan so rudely wrenched me out of sleep. A baby dream. A good dream, not the nightmare that even now still plagues my subconscious. No, there was nothing disturbing about this dream at all. In fact, even now, half awake, on my way to a trauma, I can still sense that feeling of happiness and peace that I felt in the dream. I try to wrap my mind around the images that are floating away as I begin to wake up more fully. I close my eyes briefly, trying to grab a piece of that half-remembered dream. I see myself with a chubby, smiling, apple-cheeked baby in my arms. My baby. I know it's mine because its face is the same as my own in my baby pictures. 

"Abby?" 

My eyes snap open, effectively erasing any more of the dream from memory. Oh well, I don't know what brought _that_ on either. Or maybe I do. Babies everywhere. Every time I turn around, someone else is having a baby. It's like a big cosmic joke. Or some twisted form of payback. Just one more reminder of what I'll never have. "Not now, Abby," I remind myself. Plenty of time to feel sorry for myself later. For the moment, I'll chalk the dream up to the fact that I'm surrounded by babies, new parents, and expectant parents most every day. That must be it. I've just got babies on the brain. How can I not when they are everywhere? Including right in front of me, where my best friend is standing, staring at me, drumming her fingers impatiently on her own swollen belly.

"You okay?" Susan asks, looking at me suspiciously. 

"Yeah," I nod, rubbing my hand across my forehead and pushing my hair back away from my face. I take a deep breath. "I'm okay." Let's just get on with it so that I can hurry up and go home and die. 

I trail Susan down the hall like a puppy. Or maybe like her kid sister. With Susan in the role of unwilling baby-sitter. 

"Where are you going?" She asks, the reluctant (and somewhat snappish) taskmaster. 

"To the bathroom, if that's okay, _Mom_." 

"Make it quick. It took me so long to revive you that the ETA is less than five." 

I wave her off with a dismissive gesture as I head into the bathroom, pausing momentarily. Do I feel like throwing up? Nah, the roller coaster in my stomach has settled into queasiness. I'll settle for just peeing right now, which my full bladder thanks me for profusely. By the time I've washed my hands and splashed some cool water on my face, I feel almost as if I've returned to the land of the living. 

I suppress a yawn as a wander into the trauma room, clearly not quite as awake as I thought. I let Sam and Susan prod me through the motions of preparing for the patient. I'm looking at the empty gurney with longing when Pratt and the paramedics come crashing through the door. By some miracle of nature, adrenaline starts flowing through my veins, and suddenly I'm fully awake. I even manage to make myself somewhat useful, mostly by just not killing the guy. I try my best to stay out of the way as much possible, while still contributing something to the patient's care. Unfortunately, it's me that Pratt barks at to stick a hand in the guy's gut and hold a finger against a bleeder until he can get around to clamping it. This really is not the best time to be standing around up to my elbow in some man's intestines. Frankly, the thought alone is enough to make me vaguely nauseous. Thank God I don't have to look. I just stand as still as possible trying not to feel bodily fluids gushing around my hand, and reminding myself that puking on patients, especially ones whose bellies are wide open, is generally frowned upon. 

I'm busy swallowing hard and chanting in my head, "I won't throw up, I won't throw up," over and over when someone, Pratt, I think, comes and takes over for me. I carefully move away from the gurney and the patient. Sam brushes past me on way to hang a new bag of saline, glances at me, and then does a double take. 

"Are you okay? You look a little green." 

Before I can even respond, Susan looks over at me. Catching the look on my face, she suggests, "Why don't you go get some air?" I just nod weakly, pulling off my blood-soaked gloves and gown and fleeing the room. 

Back to the ladies' room, a place that is very familiar to me these days. This time the debate about vomiting is much more serious. But in the end, a few deep breaths seem to calm the nausea. It recedes in waves, finally leaving me feeling only slightly queasy, but very exhausted -- again. This being sick shit takes a lot out of you. I glance at myself in the mirror which turns out to be a mistake. I still look kinda green. There are bags under my eyes. My skin is sallow and my face puffy. I'm really not looking good. I try that whole splashing water on my face thing again. I run my fingers through my hair. I think about taking a nap on the bathroom floor, but decide against it. I'm still trying to compose myself when the door swings open and a parade walks in. Okay, so maybe it's just Susan and Sam. 

"Sorry," I say immediately. 

"Don't be," Susan says, sounding much more sympathetic than before. "You're really sick, huh?" 

I give her a rueful little smile, "What? Did you think I was faking?" 

"No, I just didn't realize it was this … acute." 

"It's not. Not usually. It kinda comes and goes."

"You're still sick?" Sam asks, sounding concerned. "Still that flu bug?"

"Yeah, I guess. I just can't seem to shake it. Maybe if I could ever get a good's night sleep …" I trail off because the odds of that happening are just about zero. 

"Wait … how long has it been?" Sam wants to know.

I shrug. "A couple weeks. It's no big deal. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Seems like an awfully long time for a stomach … thing to be hanging on. Do you have a fever?"

"No."

"Night sweats?" Susan asks.

"No."

"Diarrhea?" Back to Sam for that one.

"No." 

"Well, we know you're fatigued," Susan offers. "What about headaches?" I shake my head, but the gesture seems to make the room start swaying again so I grab the sink for support, closing my eyes and trying to anchor myself to something solid in this sea of movement. Not missing a thing, Susan tosses out "Dizziness? Lightheadedness?" 

I open my eyes and peer into the mirror, locking onto her expression. "Yeah, sometimes, I guess," I admit reluctantly. "But I'm fine, really. Geez, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition? Could we just drop it already?"

"You're definitely irritable," Susan remarks. "What are your other symptoms?" God, this is the problem with working at a hospital … and socializing with the people you work with. They're always looking to diagnose you. 

"_I'm fine_," I repeat, this time in a singsong voice, hopefully denoting my annoyance. 

"What if it's something serious?" Sam asks. Great, now they're paranoid too.

"It's nothing serious."

"Maybe I should do a work up," Susan suggests.

"That's not necessary. It's just a virus. If I weren't working all the time and could rest, I'm sure I could fight it off." They just look at me. "Like I said, if I could just ever get some sleep …" I toss a look at Susan. 

"Hey, you got more sleep today than I did. And I'm the one who's pregnant. I should be the one who's irritable, dizzy, nauseous, tired …" She trails off, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head. 

"Hey," Sam starts, her face lighting up. She and Susan exchange a significant look. 

I know what they're thinking, but before the thought can even fully form in my head, I push it back, burying it. Impossible. 

"Don't even bother to think it," I say, pushing my way into a stall. 

"You gonna throw up?" Susan asks. 

"No. I'm gonna pee. Again. For like the ninety-fifth time today." While I'm sequestered in the cubicle I can hear indistinct mumblings being exchanged. They watch me when I emerge from the cubicle, struggling to button my pants. Damn tight pants. Damn Oreos … guess I shouldn't eat a dozen of them for breakfast anymore. Two sets of suspicious eyes stay on me as I cross back to the sink and wash my hands. 

"What?" I demand, looking into the mirror to see them both still staring at me. 

"So how's your sex life?" Sam asks. 

"Nonexistent." 

"You sure about that, Abby?" Susan asks. "Because, you know, these symptoms of yours seem very familiar to me." She smoothes her shirt down over her belly for emphasis. 

"I'm not … pregnant," I say, stumbling over the word. 

"Well, you're acting pregnant," Sam says. "Are you sure?"

"No. I mean, yes." I shake my head slightly to clear it. "It's impossible." They both just look at me. "Believe me." 

"Impossible," Sam repeats. "Impossible like 'oh-my-God-I-don't-believe-it' impossible? Or impossible like 'I-haven't-had-sex-this-year' impossible?" 

"Well …"

"Well?" Susan asks, rolling her hand in that 'get on with it' motion. 

"Well … technically, I guess, it's _… possible_. But highly unlikely. I mean, it's not like it was a … regular thing. In fact, it was just the one time. The one night … " I correct myself, feeling my cheeks heat up and tint pink at the thought of that one night. A night I've done my best to forget ever happened. If I don't think about it, it doesn't exist, right? 

"Once is all it takes," Sam points out. Well, I know that. But still. I mean, really … what are the odds?

"It was months ago," I say, shaking my head. Well, two months ago, anyway. Almost. "If I were pregnant, I would know." Wouldn't I? 

"So you're not … incredibly late or anything?" Susan asks. 

"Uh … "

"What does that mean?" Susan wants to know. 

"I kinda … lose track. I'm lucky if I know what day of the week it is, much less the date." They are both shaking their heads at me. 

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to write it down?" Sam asks.

"Well, I used to pay more attention … you know, when I was having sex." 

"Apparently you're having sex now," Susan points out.

"Just once." 

"And that's all it takes," she says triumphantly, as if we are both trying out for the debate club or something. 

"I know that." 

"So you could be pregnant." Sam gives me a no-nonsense look. 

"I'm not." 

"But you could be," she argues. 

"But I'm not." 

"Look," Sam says, giving me a reassuring smile, "I know how it is. When I first suspected I was pregnant with Alex, I kept coming up with a million different reasons why it couldn't be true. I managed to convince myself for a while. But sooner or later, there's no denying it." 

"I'm not denying it," I say. But I notice there's a change in my voice. That sense of conviction is gone, and in its place is an uncertainty. Denial is a wonderful thing. And I've perfected it to a tee over the years. But sooner or later reality intrudes. Just how long have I been feeling this way, anyway? And how much longer can I pretend not to notice the changes to my body? All these physical and emotional changes that I've managed to explain away. But Sam's right … sooner or later there's only one explanation that fits. 

But then again, you never know. The human body is strange. It's hard to gauge any one person's reactions to illness, stress … incipient depression. When I'm not feeling sick to my stomach, I've been doing a lot of comfort eating. That could certainly account for the weight gain, couldn't it? And the sleeplessness, the exhaustion could certainly spring from emotional unrest. And the irritability? Well, who wouldn't be irritable when they never get a good night's sleep? See, there's an explanation for all of it. 

"Abby?" Susan says my name gently, reaching out to touch my arm reassuringly. "There's one way to know for sure." 

"I don't know if I'm ready to know for sure," I say quietly, the tears gathering in my eyes.

Susan nods in understanding. "Take you time. Get used to the idea." I nod faintly. 

"I remember how scary it is," Sam tells me. "But I think the not knowing is actually worse than the knowing. And hey, what's the worst that could happen?" I just look at her. Does she really have to ask? "Well, yeah, okay. But look, I was fifteen. And terrified. At the time, I thought the it was the worst thing that could have happened. But it turned out to be the best. It's been hard, but … I know my kid isn't perfect. And I'm certainly not a perfect mom … but I can't imagine my life without him. I wouldn't want to." 

"No regrets?" I ask her quietly.

"None." 

I look over at Susan who's gazing down at her own full belly. She looks up and catches my eye. "My only regret is that I waited so long." 

So I'm standing here in the bathroom contemplating the possibility of single motherhood. But I happen to be in the company of one single mother and one so-far-single-mother-to-be, both of whom who are giving the institution a glowing review. 

Pregnant? Me? My mind veers back to that baby dream, not the first of it's kind these past few weeks. Has my subconscious been trying to tell me something? I can't be pregnant. I just can't. It's all too complicated. What would I do? My mind reels at the possibility. I don't _want_ an abortion, but I don't especially want to be a _single_ mother, either. But could I do it? I don't know. Sam was a teenager, about as disadvantaged as you could possibly get, and she seems to have made it through. Susan is happier than I've ever seen her, and solidly convinced that she can do it on her own, if need be. Of course, she's had some experience. But she's quick to tell you that the year she spent raising her baby niece was incredibly difficult, but one of the best times of her life. I think of a younger Susan, alone with a baby to raise, struggling to complete her residency. I think of Elizabeth, a surgeon with a demanding career, and how she not only seems to be coping with single motherhood in the wake of Mark's death , but also seems to take solace in it. And if they can do it, maybe I can, too. At least they've all got someone to go home to. God knows I'd love to not feel so alone in this world. But is that a good enough reason to bring a child into the world? 

Okay, hang on a minute. Take a deep breath, Abby. I think I'm getting ahead of myself here. I'm worrying about whether or not I should have the baby, when I don't even know if there is a baby. "The not knowing is worse than the knowing." Maybe Sam's right. After all, I could be worrying for nothing, right? Take a test, keep my fingers crossed … deal with it after I know for sure.

"Okay," I say to Susan. 

"Okay, what?" She asks. 

"Let's do the test." 


	2. Uninvited

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Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea 

Rating: R. Not yet, but you never know. So we'll just play it safe. 

Summary: In a shocking turn of events, it turns out that Abby just may be pregnant. Who would have ever guessed? 

Author's Notes: Thanks to LISA and COURTNEY. I was waiting until I got twenty reviews to post this … there's only nineteen here, but thanks to BETH who sent me a lovely e-mail review, I'm going to go ahead and post this now. The next couple chapters are practically ready to go. How long I wait to post them is up to you. I think you know what you need to do. Thanks to all of you who reviewed the first chapter, especially my regular reviewers. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. 

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Chapter 2: _Uninvited _

"Dr. Lewis, those labs that you ordered are back," Jerry says, approaching Susan behind the admit desk with a folder in his hands. 

An exhausted-looking Susan rubs her hand across her eyes. "What labs? I didn't order any labs." 

"It's got your name on it," Jerry says. "Looks like you put a rush on it." He's just about to open the folder and peer inside at the lab report when Susan reaches over and snatches it out of his hand. 

"Oh, _those_ labs." Susan looks over at me and catches my eye. I know perfectly well what labs they are, but all my resolve to face this thing head-on seems to have crumbled. 

"C'mon, Abby," she calls, "We better go talk to the patient. I'm sure she's anxious to know the results." 

"Not really," I mumble under my breath. But still, I follow Susan down the hall and into an empty exam room. She ushers me into the room, and then closes the door behind us. 

"Maybe you should sit down," she suggests, probably noticing how I'm just standing in the middle of the room, biting my lip. Sit down … yeah, that's a good idea. I perch on the side of the gurney. "Nervous?" she asks. 

My eyes flick up to her face, then back down to my hands in my lap. "No, of course not. Why should I be nervous? The entire course of the rest of my life depends on what that piece of paper says, but it's no big deal. So what've I got to be nervous about?" Sarcasm, always the best defense. 

She comes over and sits down next to me on the gurney, placing the closed folder in my lap. 

"I guess it would be silly to ask if you're upset." 

I shrug. "It's just so …" I pause for a minute, unsure of what exactly I'm trying to say, " … unexpected." Unplanned. Uninvited. Well, no, I guess that's not technically true. I _invited_ this to happen with my careless behavior. But that doesn't mean that I ever thought it would happen, not in a million years. The problem is, I just wasn't thinking. 

"Unwelcome?" Susan asks. "Because sometimes the most unexpected things can still be a welcome surprise." 

I shrug. I haven't quite figured that one out myself yet. This is a surprise, for sure, but an unwelcome one? In some ways, yes, absolutely. But in other ways … it could be the second chance I never thought I'd get. I didn't mean for this to happen, not really. But maybe a part of me did. Of course, at this point, intentions really don't matter all that much. What's done is done … now I have to deal with the consequences of my actions. I'm just not sure exactly what those consequences will be. But I hold the answer in my hands. I look down, briefly, at the folder containing the lab report.

"Good thing Jerry didn't open it up," I say, idly. "I was afraid you weren't gonna catch on, and I was gonna have to lunge across the desk for it."

"I didn't use your name," she says, in a 'duh' tone of voice like I'm in the habit of falsifying medical records and should know how it's done. But she doesn't say a word about how I've changed the subject, probably sensing that I'm not quite ready to deal with this yet.

"What name did you use?" I don't really care, but anything to delay the inevitable. 

"I made one up," she says with a shrug. I look at her, but she doesn't offer any more. "I forget," she says in answer to my question. I slowly lift up the corner of the folder and peek in, careful to just look at the patient name. I can't help but laugh. 

"Susan, you didn't." 

"What?" 

"Jones, Jennifer." 

"So? What's wrong with that?"

"Jenny Jones? You know, The Jenny Jones Show? If you're gonna name me after a talk show host, couldn't I have at least been Oprah?" 

"Because that wouldn't have been conspicuous. I wanted something … common." 

"And that was the best you could do?" 

"What difference does it make?" 

"Well, if I'm going to have an alias, I wish it would be something catchy."

"It's just a name, Abby. It doesn't really matter, does it?" 

"I'm sorry," I say leaning over to address my comments to her stomach. "I'm sorry your mother is so incredibly uncreative. I certainly hope she breaks out of it by the time you are born, or you're likely to end up with a name like 'Baby.'" 

"Shut up," Susan tells me with a laugh. "Just because that's the name of every doll I ever owned …"

We're still giggling when the door to the room comes flying open, and Sam comes crashing in. 

"Did I miss it?" she asks, closing the door behind her and flipping the lock. Great, I had no idea that revealing my test results has become the social event of the season. 

"Nope," Susan tells her. "Abby's stalling." 

"I'm not stalling."

"Yes, you are," Susan argues. Okay, maybe I am. 

"Nervous?" Sam asks. God, what's with these people and stupid questions? Of course I'm nervous. How could I possibly not be nervous? If this test is positive, it changes everything. Everything. In an instant. And my life suddenly goes from being almost in hand, to careening over the edge, spinning wildly out of control. But hey, I should be used to it by now. 

I realize I've been gnawing at my thumb, and I pull it away from my mouth, looking down at the floor. "God, I need a drink," I say, only halfway joking. It's the first time in a year that I've felt that urge. 

"Abby," Susan says. 

"Or a smoke." Another craving that I haven't had in a long time. 

"Abby," Sam says. 

"Okay, chocolate." 

"Oh, well, I can help with that," Susan says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a Kit Kat, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, a Snickers, and an Almond Joy. 

"Ooh, Peanut Butter Cups," I say reaching for the bright orange package. 

"Uh …" Susan pulls her hand away slightly. 

"What?" 

"Those are my favorite."

"Well then you should have kept them in your pocket," I tell her, plucking the packet out of her hand. 

"Abby." She sounds a little panicky. 

"My life is teetering on the brink of disaster, and you're gonna deny me the one thing that might possibly make it better?" 

"Chocolate covered peanut butter is going to make it better?" Sam asks, sounding skeptical. 

"Could you just let me have my illusions?" I ask her. 

"Abby," Susan definitely sounds panicky now, watching me tear open the package of candy. 

"What?" 

"C'mon. You're not really gonna deny me, are you? I'm pregnant." 

"So is she," Sam says, pointing at me. 

"We don't know that yet," Susan says. 

"Well, we would know if you two would stop arguing over that stupid candy and look at the results."

I look at Susan. Susan looks at me. We both turn to look at Sam. "This is not just candy, this is chocolate," Susan tells her. She rolls her eyes at us. 

"I'll split it with you," I say to Susan, offering her one of the cups. 

She gives me a big smile and we dig in, polishing off the Peanut Butter Cup and the Kit Kat. We're both eyeing the Snickers when Sam clears her throat.

"Oh, sorry," Susan says with a sheepish smile, "You want some?" She holds out the Almond Joy. 

"No, thanks." She looks at me expectantly. "Aren't you dying to know?"

"Apparently not as much as you," Susan says in a teasing tone. 

I wring my hands together, trying to screw up enough courage to look at the test results. 

"I guess I should look, huh?" I don't know who I'm asking. Talking to myself, I guess. 

"If you're ready," Susan says. 

"Are you ready?" Sam asks, a slight nudging in her tone. 

"No time like the present, I guess." 

"You want us to go?" Susan asks. "We can give you some privacy, if you want." 

"Speak for yourself," Sam says. Susan gives her a look. "Okay, yeah. Of course, we'll go if you want us to." 

"No. No, that's okay. I want you to stay." 

So they sit down next to me, one on either side. Which is just as well; there'll be nowhere for me to go when I keel over. Except straight forward onto my head. Okay, concentrate on not keeling over. My palms are sweaty. My heart is beating wildly in my chest. I need to pee. I feel like throwing up. I can't quite seem to catch my breath. I close my eyes for a moment, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Okay, I'm ready. I can do this. I slowly open up the folder, so that the lab report is staring me in the face. All I have to do is scan down the page, and … 

"Who the hell is Jennifer Jones?" Sam blurts out. 

I look up at her. "My alias," I say with a little smile. 

"Sorry," she says, "I didn't mean to interrupt." 

"It's okay," I say, turning back to the report. 

I read it carefully. Once. Twice. I understand what it says, but the information isn't penetrating my brain. I see Susan's finger trail down over the report, taking in the information. 

"Well, no wonder you've been so tired," she says. "You're anemic." I nod my head. Yeah, I saw that. But it's nothing that can't be easily fixed. Everything else seems to be in order. Everything is fine. Absolutely fine. No signs of infection. No early warnings of serious disease. 

"The vitamins will take care of that," Sam says. 

The vitamins? Ah, yes. 

The prenatal vitamins. For someone who's pregnant. 

I look back down at the test results in my hand. Everything's perfectly normal. The only thing to take note of, other than the anemia, is the hCG levels. They put me at nine weeks pregnant. Seven weeks post-conception. As if that part was ever in question. The timing was the one thing I was sure of. After all, there was just that one opportunity. 

"Abby?" Susan says my name gently. "Abby, breathe." 

I let out the breath that I've been holding in. I concentrate on breathing in and out regularly. 

"You okay?" Sam asks. Her voice sounds very far away, but I somehow figure out that she's waiting for a response from me. 

I nod, faintly. 

"You're not gonna pass out on us or anything, are you?"

I shake my head in the negative. No, I'm working on that not keeling over thing, and so far, I'm doing pretty well. My head's spinning a bit, but I'm not sure if that's the gravity of the situation sinking in or just my usual sickness --uh, pregnancy-induced dizziness. 

Pregnant. It's a familiar concept to me. Hell, these days it seems like everyone I know is pregnant. And we certainly see our fair share of pregnancies here in the ER. I spent years in OB, where all my patients were pregnant. And … I've been here myself before. But already, this feels different. More complicated, but somehow less difficult. On the surface, the circumstances are less favorable now. Last time I was pregnant, I was married to the father of my child. He was on his way to a lucrative career. I was young and physically healthy, with seemingly endless resources. And it was a disaster. An impossibility. And I knew from the moment I found out I was pregnant that it would never work. 

This time … Well, to be sure, on the face of it, it seems like an even worse set of circumstances. I'm not married. In fact, I'm about as single as I can possibly get. But better to be on my own, than to be trapped in a miserable marriage. With or without a man, I know I'm stronger now. I've grown and changed. I've learned to live my life on my terms and reach for the things that I want. I've learned to believe in myself. And to take care of myself. No more dangerous vices to get me through. No more putting my life on hold. I'm better now. And I know I could do this. If I want to. If? No, I know what I _want_. But what if what I want isn't the right thing to do? 

"Abby?" Susan asks, resting her hand on my shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Are you in shock?" She says, bending her head down so that she can look at my face. 

I look up and meet her gaze. "No. I'm okay."

"Scary as shit, isn't it?" Sam asks.

A deep breath. "Yeah." The look she gives me is significant. I know that she remembers that I've been down this road before. I feel the tears spring to my eyes, and my voice, when it finally comes out is shaky. "I don't want to go through it again." 

"You don't have to," Sam tells me, and I think I see a glimmering of tears in her own eyes. 

"No … I don't," my voice is tentative and unsure, but I already feel a whisper of hope. Susan is looking back and forth between the two of us, obviously confused. "I … I've been pregnant before." The surprise registers on her face. "Once. A lifetime ago … when I was married to Richard. It … it wasn't a good time." I hear how shallow and selfish that sounds. "I mean, I just didn't think that I could do it. My marriage was a mess. My family …"

"Abby, it's okay. You don't have to justify it. You made the decision that was best for you at the time. Whatever your reasons, I'm sure they were good ones. But things are different now. It could be different this time. And we could do it together." She waggles her eyebrows at me. "Think about how much fun that would be." 

"I know. It's just … I had my chance, you know. And I turned it down. Or rather, had it forcibly removed."

"Hey, it's only by happenstance that I didn't do the same thing," Sam reminds me. "I was going to. I just got lucky. Even though I didn't necessarily think so at the time." 

"Yeah, but you didn't go through with it. I did. That's the difference." 

"But that doesn't mean that you don't deserve another chance." Leave it to Susan; sometimes I think she's a mind reader. 

"I know you're right, but …" 

"What?" Susan asks. "If you really think I'm right …" 

"Well, I just worry that it would be selfish." 

"Do you think I'm being selfish?" She asks, hand resting on her belly. 

"No." I say immediately. "But you're gonna be a great mom."

"You would be, too." 

"I don't know about that," I say, getting up from the gurney and moving across the room. 

"Hey, if I can do it, anyone can," Sam says. "I think you'd be great." 

"Maybe. But there's other issues. My mom … and my brother … are bipolar. I've always worried about passing that on."

"You're not bipolar," Susan points out. 

"No. But that doesn't mean that my … well, that I can't pass it on."

"The chances are so slim, Abby. And … everybody has something they'd rather not pass on to their kids. But you just cross your fingers and hope for the best." 

"Alex is diabetic, you know. It's hard for him. It's hard for me, watching him struggle with it. Knowing that it's with him for life and that he's always going to have more hardships to deal with than the average kid. But you know, I wouldn't change it. Because it's a part of who he is. And even when you find out that they're not perfect, you love them anyway." 

"Did you mean what you said before?" I ask Sam. "About not having any regrets?" 

"No matter how hard it's been … if I'd known then what I know now? I never would have been in that clinic in the first place. So … yeah. Absolutely. I meant it. Why?"

"Because … I do. Have regrets," I admit for the first time, maybe even to myself. Usually I try to tell myself that I did the right thing. And deep down I know that I probably did, but a part of me will always wonder. A part of me will always grieve for the child I'll never know. But even so, if I could back and do it all over again, I'm not sure that I would change my decision. I did what I had to do. So I don't know if I regret having done it, but I know I regret that it was necessary. But that was then. Things are different now … 

"You can't … you can't second-guess yourself using hindsight," Susan says. "There's so much you know now that you couldn't have known then. And you can only ever do what feels right at the time." 

"Well, it didn't even feel right then. Even though I knew I had to do it, it didn't really feel right."   


"Then it would probably feel even more wrong now," Sam offers. Susan gives her a disapproving stare. "Look, I'm not trying to tell you what you should or shouldn't do. I can only tell you that what my experience has been. And every day, since the day he was born -- even the bad days -- I'm just glad that luck or fate intervened."

"You have to do what's right for you," Susan says. "But I can tell you that I know where Sam's coming from." 

"You thought about not keeping the pregnancy?" I ask her, surprised. 

"No. No, but when my sister was pregnant with Susie, I really thought that she should have an abortion. Lucky thing I wasn't in charge. The minute Susie was born … well, it was the first time in recorded history that I was actually glad that Chloe didn't listen to me," she says with a chuckle. 

"I get the feeling you two are trying to tell me something." 

"We're not trying to talk you into anything you don't want to do."

"Of course not," Susan agrees with Sam. "But …" she looks at me carefully, "… if having this baby _is_ what you want to do … well, then, we very much want to give you some encouragement." 

"I'd be all on my own in this. I'd be doing it by myself. And it's not easy," I say. "Being a single mom." 

"No," Susan says. 

"It's the hardest thing I've ever done," Sam says. 

"Is it … is it worth it?" I ask, really needing to know. 

They exchange a quick glance before both nodding emphatically. 

"Yeah, it's worth it," Sam says. 

"The first time that pair of chubby little arms reaches up for you from the crib, any doubts you have will disappear," Susan assures me. "And Abby? You won't be on your own. Like I said, we'll do it together." 

"And I'll help any way I can," Sam offers. "Hey! Maybe we can start a baby-sitting co-op." 

Susan levels a look at her. "You mean, like, we would trade off?"

"Something like that."

"So we'd have to take Alex." 

"You don't have to say it like that." 

"So you'd get to watch our sweet, cuddly little babies, and we'd get to watch a kid who likes to hide human body parts. Does that sound like a fair trade to you?" Susan asks, turning to me. 

But I don't answer. I'm too busy thinking about what she just said … 'our sweet, cuddly babies.' She's including me in that. Me and … my baby. Suddenly the tears are spilling over my cheeks, and I can't seem to stop them.

"What? What's wrong?" Susan asks, coming over to me.

"You don't really have to watch Alex," Sam says. 

"It's not that," I manage to choke out. 

They just look at me, waiting for me to explain my outburst. I feel something bubbling up within me, trying desperately to escape. Finally, the damn bursts and, through my tears, I start laughing. And I can't seem to stop. Susan and Sam probably think it's some sort of delayed hysterical reaction. 

"Oh my God," I say, my voice, laced with laughter, sounding awestruck even to my own ears. "I'm gonna have a baby." I smile at them and they smile back, realizing that my laughter, and my tears, are coming out of my happiness. 

I'm happy. I'm having a baby. And I'm happier than I ever could have imagined. 


	3. The 'F' Word

__

Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea

Summary: Abby's pregnant. Huh. No kidding? Seems like my loyal readers saw that coming. What's that you say? You sense a theme? Well, I hope you like it. 

Authors Note: 

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Sing like no one is listening; Dance like no one is watching; Live each day as if it's your last. Gotta love those Irish proverbs. Anyway, I do believe this marks my one year anniversary of posting here at fanfic.net. So in celebration, here's the next chapter. 

I was really overwhelmed by the response last time … and since I've gotten well over 30 reviews for chapter 2, it seemed only right that I should get this up quickly. And I just happened to have it already written and practically ready to go. But I can't promise that I'll always be this quick. But I will always appreciate the reviews. There's nothing quite as gratifying as opening up a mailbox to find 23 reviews all at once. So thanks for making my day. Thanks for all the praise and votes of confidence. 

Hey TAYLOR, how did you know I was going to Burbank … I'm gonna be the next contestant on The Price Is Right. Okay, maybe not. Whatever. But I do appreciate the sentiment … alas Wells and Chulack haven't called yet. Slackers. And LANIE, what do you mean you knew Abby was pregnant? Are you suggesting I'm transparent or something? And now everyone thinks they know who the daddy is. Okay, Lanie, if you're so smart … what's gonna happen next, huh? Huh? And just what is all this hate for Lester guys? It's as if you think his bushy beard and 80s dork glasses *aren't* like the hottest thing ever. And what about the his halting, pansy-assed manner of speaking? It's like you think he's not man enough to knock up Abby or something. Or not worthy of fathering her child. Hate for the Lester … that's just not right. Anyhoo … BETH, thanks for the private and public reviews. LISA and COURTNEY thanks for previewing this for me. Everyone else, thanks for reading, reviewing and putting up with this long note. Hey, cut me some slack, it's my anniversary.

*~*~*~*

Chapter 3: The 'F' Word 

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better these days," Susan says, finding me in the lounge just as I'm tucking into my meal. "Lasagna?" She asks, studying the contents of my plate.

I swallow hastily as I nod. "Left over from dinner last night." 

"Yeah, me too," She opens the fridge and starts rooting around, probably looking for her own leftovers. "You made lasagna? I'm impressed."

"Don't be. I just took it out of the freezer and stuck it in the oven." 

"Well, that's more than I can I say. Take out," she says, holding up a greasy bag as she comes over to join me at the table. 

"Whatcha got?" 

"Hot wings." She waggles her eyebrows at me, clearly relishing the thought. 

"For breakfast?" I ask. 

"Look who's talking. You're eating lasagna and drinking … what the hell is that anyway?" She peers in my cup skeptically.

"Chocolate milk."

"That's gross," she says with a look of disdain.

"_You're_ eating cold chicken wings." 

"I know. You want one?" 

"Of course," I say reaching over and plucking up one of the saucy, gooey wings.

"I can't believe you're really eating that," Susan comments as I gobble the chicken.

"Why? You're eating it, aren't you?" 

"Well, yeah. But I'm in the cravings stage of pregnancy. Shouldn't you still be in the queasy stage?" 

I shrug. "Ever since I found out what was really making me sick, I've felt a lot better. Probably because I stopped drinking 7-Up for every meal and started eating real food. That pretty much took care of the dizziness. I'm still kinda queasy, but it actually seems better if I eat."

"Lasagna and chicken wings as a cure for an upset stomach. Who would have thought?" 

"It probably only works if you're pregnant," I point out. 

"Speaking of which," Susan says, "I thought you were keeping it a secret for now." 

"I am," I say. Then, worrying about the rumor mill, I ask, "Why? What have you heard?" 

"Nothing. But, you know, if anyone were to walk in here and see your choice of early-morning cuisine … well, don't you think they might be slightly suspicious?"

"No." 

"You seem pretty confident about that."

"I am. If anyone comes in, I'll just push all the food in front of you and sit here looking horrified at _your_ choices." 

"Oh, great. Make me look like a pig." 

"What are you trying to say, Susan? You think that eating lasagna for breakfast makes _me_ a pig?" 

"No. But if I'm sitting here with my chicken wings and your lasagna, chocolate milk, and those little green things … what are those little green things?"

"Pepper rings." 

"And your pepper rings … well, then I'm going to look like some sort of sow. Like this belly isn't already enough. I feel so fat." 

I roll my eyes. "You're not fat." 

"Ha. You say that now. Just wait. Soon you'll have a big old belly of your own." 

"I don't care," I say with a little smile. 

Susan gives me a contemplative look. "You're doing okay with this whole thing, huh?" 

"Yeah. I mean … yeah." I stop for a minute, trying to think how I can explain my feelings. "Some of the time … well, _most_ of the time I think I must be crazy. It's insane. I don't know what the hell I think I'm doing. I'm terrified. But I'm happy. Happier than I've been in a long time. Things certainly aren't perfect. Far from it, in fact. But that doesn't seem to matter. Suddenly there's this purpose, this meaning to my life. I don't know …" I trail off, not exactly comfortable with expressing this kind of sentiment, even to Susan who must know exactly how I feel. 

She's nodding her head in understanding, in fact. "It gets easier. The more you get used to the idea, the more real it becomes … the less scary it gets. And it gets more exciting. And then one day, it's almost like you can't remember a time when you weren't pregnant. I don't want to say that you take it for granted, but … you just get to a point where it seems … normal." 

I twirl my fork around on the plate, nodding in response because it's easy enough for me to imagine. "I can't believe that two weeks ago I wouldn't even let myself acknowledge the fact that this baby existed. And now I've already started thinking of it as a person. I had no idea that it would feel like this. That I could get attached so easily."

"You don't even have to try. It just kinda happens." 

I'm about to answer her when I notice the door opening so instead I pause, waiting to see who is joining us. 

"What just happens?" Luka asks, crossing the room to the coffee machine. As soon as I see that it's him, I go back to my pepper rings and chocolate milk. 

Susan gives me a questioning look, but then looks back over her shoulder at Luka. "Oh. I was just telling Abby about how easy it is to get attached to the baby … even before it's born."

"Oh. Yeah, it doesn't take long," Luka agrees. He glances over at me with curiosity, probably wondering if I care to weigh in on the subject. 

"It's happening already," I say, still somewhat surprised by the fact. 

He stops by my chair, standing and smiling down at me as he inspects the array of food before me. "So you're feeling better today?" 

"Yeah. Now that I'm actually eating, I feel much better. Tired. Still kinda nauseous sometimes, but not too bad." 

"Well, that's good." He gives me a very stern, but concerned look. "You know you have to eat if you want a healthy baby."

"I know," I say with a tone of exaggerated patience in my voice. I can't resist giving him a little eye roll.

He just chuckles, turning to go back out the door. "And try to get some rest," he calls to me, "You look exhausted." I just shake my head at his departing figure.

"Oh my God," Susan says.

"What?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?" 

"What was _that_?" She asks, gesturing toward the doorway.

"Luka?" 

"Yeah."

"Luka knows." 

"Obviously," she says, giving me a 'duh' look. "But I thought you were keeping it quiet."

"I am." 

"So you told Luka?" 

"Well …" 

"Well what?" She demands, the look on her face somewhere between bemusement and horror. 

"I figured he had a right to know after--"

"Dr. Lewis," Chuny sticks her head in the door, interrupting me mid-sentence, "We need you in Trauma One." 

"Okay, I'll be there in a minute," Susan says distractedly, staring at me with a shocked expression on her face. 

"No. Now." Chuny's voice is firm. "It's a kid," she informs us. "Bike versus SUV. We can use all the help we can get." 

Susan and I exchange a quick glace, but both of us quickly stand up, abandoning our breakfast so we can go help save a child's life. 

An hour later, through the efforts of Susan, Carter, Gallant, several nurses, and myself, we've managed to do just that. Susan and Gallant wheel the little boy toward the elevator, sending him off to surgery. Carter and I are left behind, the two of us still standing in the trauma room, momentarily rooted to the spot. I'm pooped … both physically and emotionally. I can't seem to move on just yet. Already these things are starting to affect me more than I ever would have imagined. Kids. I hate it when it's kids. I always have, but now … 

"Are you okay?" Carter asks, sounding genuinely concerned. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I tell him, mustering up a smile that I hope will be convincing enough.

"It's tough, huh? When it's kids." Sometimes it's like he can still read my mind. That used to bring me such reassurance, knowing that we often thought the same things. Now it just hurts. A reminder of what might have been, but never will be now.

"Yeah …" I finally answer, only to trail off, not really wanting to get into this with him.

"Abby? Are you really okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be? I told you I'm fine," I say, barely managing not to snap at him. 

"Is something wrong?"

"No." As if I would tell you. It's a little too late for you to be worrying about me now. 

"You sure you're not coming down with something? You look a little … pale." I follow the line of his gaze and realize that he's noticed my hand resting lightly on my belly. An unconscious protective reaction or just a response to the queasiness that's stirring? I'm not sure since I didn't even realize what I was doing. 

"Nauseous?" He asks, clearly not having missed a thing. I quickly move my hand away, adjusting my lab coat and then slipping my hands in my pockets before I can make any other unwitting suspicious moves. 

"No, I'm okay." 

"If you're not feeling well, Abby …" 

"I said _I'm fine_." I can feel the frustration mounting, and my voice doesn't do much to hide that fact. I'm tired of people asking me how I am, especially when they won't accept my answer, like maybe they know better what I'm feeling. And frankly, he's the last person with whom I want to discuss this -- or anything else, for that matter. 

"You need to take care of yourself, Abby." Oh goody, a lecture. Just what I was hoping for.

I give him a stiff smile. "I know that."

"That means sometimes you have to put yourself first." 

"Well, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" The pleasantness of my voice belies the bitterness of the statement. 

"What?" He asks, giving me a look of confusion and concern, his face showing his complete oblivion. 

"Nothing. Never mind." Just let it go, Abby. Just let it go. 

"I just hate to think of you … well, I just want to see take care of yourself for a change. I want you to be well … and happy." 

Why? So you can feel better, you pompous jerk? I want so much to say it, but I know there's no point. It's over. It's in the past. Better that I just focus on the future. The future that I'll be sharing with my baby. I feel a little smile tugging at the corners of my mouth at the thought. "I am happy," I tell him. 

"That's good. I … always wanted that. I just wanted what was best for both of us." 

I give him a long look not really trusting myself to speak. If he was so concerned about me than why … no, I can't let myself go down that road. I try reminding myself to just think about the baby, but even those happy thoughts don't completely drown out the feelings of … betrayal. Feelings that still sting. Somehow listening to him say that all he ever wanted was for me to be happy is more than I can bear. 

"Whatever, Carter." 

The resentment in my tone isn't lost on him although he does seem confused by it. Typical. "Abby? Wha --" 

"I've got patients to see," I tell him tersely, turning and heading out the door, effectively ending the conversation. I go straight to admit and grab up a bunch of charts that are bound to keep me busy for a good, long time. And the busier I am, the less likely it is that I'll be forced to participate in conversations that I don't really want to have. In fact, I manage to avoid prolonged contact with anyone until Sam discovers me in the drug lock-up. 

"Oh," she says, noticing me sitting on the floor.

"Hi." 

"Hi" she says, her voice curiously flat, maybe even a bit chilly. 

"Something wrong?" I ask her. 

"No." She doesn't look at me, though, just continues to search through the inventory for whatever it is she needs. 

"Really? Because maybe I'm imagining things, but it seems like you've been avoiding me lately." 

"Why would I do that?" She asks me, sounding just slightly hostile. 

"I don't know. "

"Well, I wouldn't. I mean, I'm not." I wait for her to say something more, but she doesn't offer anything. Finally, giving me a curious look, she asks, "What are you doing sitting on the floor?" She sounds more friendly now, maybe she's trying to convince me that everything is good. 

"Hiding," I admit.

"From?" 

"I don't know … everything." 

"Ah. One of those days." 

"Sometimes it feels like it's always one of those days," I say as I struggle to get to my feet. 

"I hear that. See, I told you," she drops her voice a couple of notches, "Being pregnant sucks." She gives me a conspiratorial smile, apparently having forgotten about whatever was bugging her. Guess it didn't have anything to do with me, after all. Looks like I am imagining things. 

"It's not that," I assure her with a smile, talking in low tones myself. "I mean, _pregnancy_ has its moments, but the baby … that's the one thing that's ever really gone right in my life. Given the circumstances, I can't really believe that I feel that way about it … but I do." Two weeks that I've know about this baby, and already I love it more than I ever would have thought possible. I knew that motherhood -- or expectant motherhood -- would be something special, but I don't think I had any idea of just how right it would feel. "It's kinda like going back to med school. I'm all full of … misgivings, yet at the same time … somehow I just know it's what I'm supposed to do."

"I guess things really do happen for a reason. Like it was fated or something." 

There's something about the way she says this that makes me stop and look at her closely. There's an expression on her face that I can't quite place. It's somewhere between wistful and sad. I'm not sure what's upsetting her, so I choose not to say anything about it for the moment.

"I like to think of it as … serendipity," I tell her. 

"Serendipity? Like a windfall?" 

"Yeah. Something wonderful that I wasn't even looking for, but that just sort of happened."

"Just happened, huh?"

"Well …" I say with a laugh and an eye roll. 

"Hey, maybe you should think about 'Serendipity' … you know, for a name." 

Now I'm really laughing. "You're kidding, right?" She shrugs. "Serendipity Wyczenski. Why not just tattoo 'kick me' on the kid's forehead?" 

"Wyczenski?" 

I nod. "Yeah. My maiden name. Lockhart is my ex-husband's. This, however," I say, patting my belly, "Is not. So somehow it didn't seem like it would be appropriate." 

"Oh. Yeah. I guess not." She looks at me hesitantly for a moment, perhaps trying to decide whether or not to say what's on her mind. So maybe I wasn't just imagining things. 

"What?" I finally ask. 

"Can I … can I ask you something?" 

"Okay," I agree, figuring I have an idea of what's coming. 

"About … your baby's father." 

Ah, the 'f' word. I'm surprised it's taken so long for it to come up. I guess when I didn't volunteer any information, no one wanted to be the one to ask. But to be honest, I would have thought that someone would have said something sooner. I take a deep breath. Better get used to it, I'm gonna go through this one a lot. 

"He's, um, … irrelevant." Not what she was asking, I know, but it's the only answer I'm prepared to give. "It's _my _baby."

"He doesn't want to be involved?" 

"He can't be. He's … otherwise occupied." She gives me a very strange look. "He has someone else now," I explain. Now Sam is looking at me with an expression of absolute horror on her face. 

"Oh my God, it's true."

"What's true?" 

"I didn't want to believe it. I kept telling myself it was just rumors. After all, you would have told me. Or _he_ would have told me. I didn't believe Susan. I thought she must have gotten it wrong. But I guess I was just kidding myself. I should have known. I mean, my God, you're standing here in his sweater." 

"Um … can we go back in time five minutes to when you were actually making sense? I have no idea what you're talking about," I tell her in exasperation, completely confused about why she should be so upset. 

"You're wearing Luka's sweater," she points out again. 

I look down. "Yeah …" She gives me a look like I should understand the significance. "I was cold. Aren't you cold? It's so cold in here. I swear they've turned on the air conditioning already. I was freezing this morning and digging through the lost and found box, and not finding a damn thing, when Luka came along and offered me this sweater that's apparently been in his locker since he started working here judging by the smell. So what? Are you really that upset that he loaned me his sweater?" 

"It's not about the stupid sweater." 

"Okay, then what's it about?" 

"The baby!" 

"Gee, Sam, could you say it a little louder? I think there's a few hard-of-hearing patients in geriatrics that missed it."

"Well, I'm not really interested in keeping secrets for you," she says, definitely pissed off now. "You don't have to protect him anymore. And if you've got some screwed-up idea that you're somehow protecting me …"

"Protecting you? What does this have to do with you? 

"Well, I'd like to think that it would have something to do with me if you're having my boyfriend's baby." 

"What?" 

"That's the big secret, right? Luka's the father." She looks none too happy with me. And I guess that's understandable.

"Luka." 

"And I don't know why it should surprise me. It's not like he hasn't nailed every nurse in this hospital. I _thought_ that was in the past … maybe it's just as well this happened now." She sounds more resigned than pissed now, turning toward me with a slight shake of her head, as if she's shaking off her earlier anger. "Look, I know it's not your fault. I don't blame you. It's probably _my_ fault. If I hadn't wasted so much time, if I hadn't freaked out …" 

"Luka?" 

"You don't have to pretend, okay, Abby? I'd rather just know." She's getting a little teary now. "And if there's something between you two … I don't want to stand in the way, I --"

"It's not Luka's."

"It's not?"

"No," I say, laughing in spite of myself. "What on earth made you think that?"

"Susan told me," she says. 

"_Susan_ told you?" 

"Yeah, I don't think she knows about Luka and I, so she just kind of came right out with it. And I guess on top of all the rumors … well, when she found out that you told Luka … she told me that you said you told him because he had a right to know. Why else would he have a _right to know_?"

Now I'm really laughing. It's not really funny. Except it kind of is. "What I was _trying _to say to Susan when we got interrupted by an incoming trauma was that I thought Luka had a right to know … _after I threw up in his car_. He seemed overly concerned. And about me, not his upholstery. So I thought the least I could do was tell him the truth, since I'd just puked all over his leather interior. And wait … what rumors?" 

"About you and Luka," she tells me in a tone that implies that I should have known that.

"Well, yeah, I gathered as much. But what exactly about us?" 

"That you're back together." 

I shouldn't laugh, I know. But I can't help it. It's all just so absurd. God, these people are desperate for some good, juicy gossip. "Back together? After three years?" 

She shrugs. "It happens." 

"Well, it didn't happen. Not to Luka and I. We're friends. That's it. Besides, he's got you now, right? I mean, you did say that he's your _boyfriend_, now, didn't you?" 

"Yeah, I don't think the rumor mill has picked up on that one, yet."

"Typical. They're usually all over the stuff that's wrong … it takes them longer to catch on to the actual truth. Thank God," I mumble under my breath. 

"I should have known better than to believe the gossip. I'm sorry," she says. 

"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry that you were upset by it. I never even thought … where the hell did they get the idea that Luka and I were back together? And Susan … I mean, _Luka?_" Sam gives me a somewhat hurt look. "I didn't mean it like that. It's not him. It's just … nothing could be farther from the truth." 

"I'm glad to hear it. I feel so stupid. But you know how it is … Chuny said she saw you two leave together one night and come in the next morning together. And apparently everyone has seen you two going to lunch together all the time …"

"Twice," I interrupt. "We went had lunch together _twice _in the past two weeks. And once it was just coincidence. The place was packed when he got there with no open tables, so I invited him to join me. And as far as us leaving together … yeah, we did. He gave me a ride home. That was the day that I found out about you-know-what. Luka ran into me sitting out in the ambulance bay after my shift was over. I think I must have been in some sort of fugue state. He obviously could see that something wasn't quite right with me so he asked me if I was taking the El or if I wanted a ride. Since I couldn't seem to remember what the El was, I decided it would be a good idea to let him give me a ride. Then I barfed in his car. So I felt compelled to tell him. And I asked him to keep it a secret. I didn't think to tell him that you knew my secret too. And yeah, he gave me a ride to work the next day. It was the day we had that big storm, and I think he was worried that in the state I was in, I'd be out wandering in the inclement weather for hours. So he picked me up on his way to work. That's all there is to it. I'm sorry. I should have told you that I told him. I knew you two were … dating. I guess I didn't realize how serious it is. How serious is it?" 

"It … has potential. I think. I hope." She gives me a quick smile. 

"Now that you know that he hasn't fathered any illegitimate children lately. At least, not with me," I say with a grin. "So is it okay if I keep wearing his sweater? I really am freezing. It must be some hormonal thing." 

"Yeah," she says, with an embarrassed chuckle, "You can wear the sweater." 

"Gee, thanks," I say with fake gratitude. "If it makes you feel any better, I was wearing Pratt's jacket yesterday. And he's not the father either." 

"Maybe you should think about a sweatshirt or something," she suggests. "Not that I care if you wear Luka's sweater. I was just … overreacting."

"Well, that's because you thought it was about a lot more than a sweater." 

"Yeah, but still …" 

"Look, I guess now that I think about it, Luka has been kind of … solicitous towards me … but I think that's just his protective streak coming out. He knows I'm on my own. He's probably worried that it's gonna overwhelm me. So he feels like he has to step in and protect me … or maybe he's just trying to make sure that I know I've got friends in my corner. But don't worry; his concern is … well, almost brotherly, at this point. He'd do the same thing for any friend that he thought was in need. He's a good guy, you know," I tell her, hoping to sweeten the pot a bit, just in case she's still harboring any hostile thoughts toward Luka for his recent concern over me. 

"Yeah. I know." She looks at me for a minute, seeming somewhat uncertain, and then, relieved. "God, I'm glad I said something to you first." 

"Yeah. Better me than him. Even if I am the one in 'a delicate condition.'"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're lucky I didn't keel over on you from all the stress," I say walking past her and out the door into the hallway.

"I said I was sorry," she says, sounding slightly exasperated as she follows behind me. 

"I'm supposed to be taking it easy. Relaxing. Thanks for helping out with that." 

"You're gonna make me pay for this, aren't you?" She asks, a tone of mock distress in her voice.

"Oh, yes." 

"How?"

"I don't know. But I'll think of something. Don't worry, though … whatever I do to you -- Susan's getting double." 

Sam laughs, clearly not finding me threatening in the least. She looks around and then, noticing that there's no one nearby, she begins speaking in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "So Abby … you never said. If it's not Luka …" 

Uh-oh. Here we go …

"Who's the father?" 

*~*~*~* 

Uh-oh, a cliffhanger. Sorry about that. But I couldn't give it away that easily, could I? Okay, I was kidding around before when I asked Lanie what was gonna happen next. But if anyone wants to hazard a guess … I'd love to hear it. I'd also love to hear who you think the daddy is … and why. Understand that I already *know* so this isn't a pick-the-daddy-contest; I'm just interested in hearing people's ideas. And assuming that Abby's not lying through her teeth, I just eliminated three 'possibilities.' So come on, who do you think it is? Who do you want it to be? Or not want it to be? And why, of course. Also there are a few other things that I'm still trying to decide about … I don't usually do this, but … I'm gonna open it up for discussion … Again, this isn't a democracy, I'll make the final decision, but I wouldn't mind knowing what people think about the following: Should Abby find out the sex of the baby or should it be a surprise? Do you want it to be a boy or a girl? And I'll listen to any suggestions for names …assuming they aren't fucking stupid -- Abby's not gonna really name her kid Tequila (hey, Cath) … and then I'll go ahead and choose something that *I* like (as I've already got a few in mind) … but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in hearing what people have to say. And if you think this is all a bid to get more reviews, you are absolutely right. You've spoiled me now. And just so you know, chapter 4 is already written … it's all in you hands once again. 


	4. A Good Thing

__

Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea 

Spoilers: Thought I should mention that this fic, like me, is SPOILER FREE. I just made it up. I couldn't very well put in any spoilers since I don't know any, anyway. But I thought I should mention it in case anyone was wondering. I also wanted to mention my own spoiler-free status and ask that no one mention anything spoileriffic in the reviews. Not that anyone has so far … but you know, just thought I should say something now before it's too late. 

Summary: Abby's pregnant, but no one seems to know who the daddy is. 

Author's Note: Thanks, LISA. First off, I'd like to thank everyone for all the reviews and for all the various suggestions. Feel free to continue with the input. Having said that, I'd like to say that while I'm not above bribing you guys … or you know, using my usual extortion tactics to get you to review, *I* do not respond well to rude demands. I never promised when I would get chapter 4 up … I wrote it -- so I get to decide when to post it. And I don't generally hold chapters back without a good reason. I *was* going to wait until I had chapter 5 written so that I could post that one fairly quickly after this one … but since someone implied that just because I have a chapter written, I have some sort of obligation to post it … here it is. With chapter 5 nowhere near done. So don't bitch and moan to me when it's two weeks (or more) until the next post. Whine to Kristyn, it was her idea for me to post this now. Where is it? It's here. I hope you're happy. So here's to impatience. Woo hoo! I thought about holding back this chapter for a while (regardless of when I get chapter 5 done) because I'm a spiteful bitch like that, but then Lynn came along and said the next chapter would put a smile on lot people's faces so I decided to go ahead and post it tonight. After all, it doesn't matter to *me* … I was just trying to do something nice for the readers … space it out, you know, so there would be less of a wait between this and the next. But if this is what you want … be my guest. Of course, I still want your reviews, and I hope you'll send them even though they can't 'buy' you an additional chapter quickly. The posting of this one will be entirely dependent upon my free time and inspiration. But remember the good reviews are really inspiring and might just keep me working on the next chapter. And once again, I will update the other stories when and if I am able to write additional chapters for them. I don't know if people assume I have chapters and chapters written that I refuse to post, but I assure you that is not the case. And what I haven't written, I can't post. So, again, when and if I am able to get in another chapter on one of the other fics, I will post it. I appreciate the interest, but as most_ of you seem to understand, it's not easy to churn out these chapters. For those of you who don't understand it … let me just say this … I believe in quality over quantity. If you are only interested in quick posts, you might have to look elsewhere. And if you enjoy my writing as it is, you have to wait until I'm ready to write it or post it. Quality work takes time, my friends. Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox now. I hope you enjoy this chapter … and yes, sometimes I do steal lines straight from the show. But I figure that's okay since I routinely steal lines from myself. Anyway … yeah. Enjoy. I hope this really _does_ put a smile on lots of people's faces. And the chapter title? Shout out to everybody's favorite perfectionist/soon-to-be jailbird? Uh … maybe. _

*~*~*~*

Chapter 4: A Good Thing 

"Mom!" I call, catching sight of her on the other side of Union Station. I wave my arm over my head in a big sweeping gesture, hoping to attract her attention. It must work because I see her break into a smile, returning my wave. We don't exactly run into each other's arms, but we do hurry toward one another, with Maggie pulling her suitcase along behind her, and me trying to assess her state of mind. We meet halfway, in what is probably one of the most friendly reunions we've ever shared. 

"Oh, Abby. It's so good to see you," she says, sounding sincere. She gives me a big smile before pulling me into a hug. Quickly she pulls back, though, placing her hands on either side of my face. "Let me look at you." 

"Mom," I protest, not especially wanting her to scrutinize me like this in public. 

"You look good. How are you? _Are_ you good?" she asks intently. Maybe she's wondering why I asked her here on the spur-of-the-moment. I refused to give her any hints over the phone. So maybe she's worried that I'm about to spring some bad news on her. 

"Yeah, I'm good. How are you?" 

"On my meds."

"I wasn't asking," I inform her, taking her suitcase and pulling it behind me, leading the way to my car. 

"No, but you were probably wondering," she points out, following along behind me. 

"Can you blame me? At least I didn't ask this time," I say in a playful tone. 

"And I guess I should be glad. I _am _glad that you invited me for a visit. I'm only sorry your brother couldn't make it." 

"That's okay," I tell her. "I'm kinda glad it's just us." 

"You are?" Her voice indicates her disbelief. And why shouldn't she be skeptical? After all, it's not like I'm in the habit of inviting her to town for a friendly visit. 

"Yeah. Not that I wouldn't have loved to see Eric, too."

"He was disappointed that he couldn't get the time off." 

"Well, tell him I'll come and visit you guys soon. This summer, when it's horribly hot and humid here."

"He'll like that." 

"How is he?" 

"On his meds." 

"Mom." We've reached the car, and pause in our conversation until we are both settled and on our way. 

"Eric is … fine," Mom says after a few minutes of idle chitchat, picking up our former conversation where we left off. "I mean, he struggles sometimes. But he's adjusting, I think. Learning to live with it." 

"Good. That's good," I let out a breath that I didn't even realize I was holding. I think a part of me was scared that she would arrive bearing tales of woe or warning me that disaster is imminent. And I think that would have been more than I could have handled right now. 

"So when are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Maggie demands as we get closer to my place. 

"What what's all about? Can't I invite my mother for a visit?" 

"Yes. But you don't. So c'mon, Abby … I'm your mother, you can't lie to me." 

"Who's lying? I'm not lying." 

"You're keeping secrets from me." 

"Would I invite you here if I was trying to keep something from you?" 

"You're hiding something," she says, peering at me through narrowed eyes. "I know you are. Something is going on." 

"I'm not hiding anything." 

"Abby …" 

"Okay, you're right," I say, giving in. "Something _is_ going on. And that's why I invited you here. But I'm not gonna just blurt it out in the car. We'll talk about it when we get home. Are you hungry? Do you want to stop and get some lunch?" 

"No."

"No?" 

"And wait that much longer to find out what this big secret of yours is? No way. I can't stand the suspense." 

"Okay," I agree, turning the car toward home. 

"Did you get kicked out of med school again?" she asks after a few minutes. Apparently the suspense really is killing her. 

"No! And I didn't get _kicked out_ last time. They just made me leave until I paid up."

"Oh my God, you got fired." 

"No, Mom. I didn't get fired," I say with a bit of exasperation. 

"You're not graduating?" 

"Not unless you know something I don't know. Now would you just stop trying to guess? I told you we'll talk about it when we get to my place. And you know, we are almost there." 

"Fine," she says in conciliatory tone, "I won't say another word until we get there." 

"Fine." When I look over at her as we are sitting at the next red light, she gives me a little smile with a small wave. Apparently she means that literally. Okay, fine. Whatever. I find myself rolling my eyes. Get used to it, Abby … this is what it'll be like when it's your child sitting in the seat next to you. I feel the start of a smile turn up the corners of my mouth. 

"What's that smile for?" Maggie demands, breaking her vow of silence. 

"Nothing." 

"'Nothing' she says. Invited me here to torture me, I guess." 

"_Mom._"

"What?" 

"We're here," I tell her, pulling up to the curb and stopping the car. We retrieve her luggage and start inside. When we get to the staircase, I try to take the suitcase from her. 

"Abby, let me." 

"No, I'll do it." 

"No, you won't. For God's sake, Abby, I'm not an invalid. I know you think I'm quite elderly, but I'll have you know that I don't even qualify for senior discounts yet. So you can stop digging my grave, I've still got both feet firmly planted on the ground." Great, now she's got a complex about getting old. Wait until I tell her she's gonna be a grandma. She'll just love that. 

"Could you be more dramatic?" I ask her, watching as she hefts her suitcase and starts up the stairs. 

"Probably. Would you like me to try?" 

"Not especially." We make it to the top of the stairs without any trouble, and after just a few attempts, I manage to shove the door open and let her in to my apartment. 

"I like what you've done with the place," Maggie says dryly, looking around. I never realized that I got my sarcastic streak from her. 

"Yeah, well … I meant to clean up, but then I ended up doing double duty in the ER yesterday, and I was just too wiped out when I got home."

"Double duty?" she asks as we settle in, taking off our jackets and sitting down on the couch.

"Yeah, my rotation during the day, and a nursing shift last night."

She shakes her head and clucks her tongue at me. "You're gonna make yourself sick working those kind of hours. I mean, med school _and_ nursing?"

"Well, I don't really have much choice. If I wanna eat, I have to work at a job where they actually pay me. Besides, it won't be much longer."

"You mean you'll be able to stop taking nursing shifts once you graduate?"

"Something like that. And, you know, it isn't like this is the first time that I've done it."

She shakes her head again. "And that Richard seemed like such a nice young man." This gets an eye roll from me. "Too bad he turned out to be such an unequivocal jerk. After all those years you spent supporting him …"

"I wouldn't take his money, anyway. It's bad enough I had to get him to co-sign my school loans. God, I'll be living that down for the rest of my life."

"It's the least he could do."

"Try telling _him_ that. You would have thought I was asking for a kidney."

"So how did you get him to agree?" 

"Good old-fashioned guilt trip. I just reminded him that I never asked him for anything -- no support, no alimony. And I really don't care if I have to work _three_ jobs. I'd rather do that than take his money." 

She's giving me a look that I can't quite discern. 

"What?" I ask. 

"Sometimes I think that you're just too independent for your own good." 

"Gee, I wonder where I learned that?" I ask, my voice full of sarcasm.

"Abby."

"What choice do I have, Mom? I mean, who exactly do you suggest I depend on? I've learned the hard way that the only person I can really count on is myself." 

"Abby …" There's something about the look on her face …guilt, shame. I realize that she thinks this is some sort of veiled reference to our past struggles. 

"I don't just mean you, Mom. It's a lesson I've had to learn over and over. But I think maybe I've got it now." 

"Oh, sweetie …" she starts, her voice soft and full of concern. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Of course." I know she's probably lamenting my cynical and jaded attitude. "It's not a bad thing. It's just the way the world works." She gives me a long, contemplative look probably wondering how she can restore my faith in the inherent goodness of the universe. Yeah, good luck with that one. 

"Abby, I just think -"

"Mom," I interrupt. "Would you mind if we didn't talk about this right now?" 

She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, possibly reconsidering. "Whatever you want, sweetie." 

"Thank you." I give her a smile. "So … are you hungry? Want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?" 

"No, Abby. I don't want anything to eat or drink, but I would like to know what's going on with my daughter." She studies me for a minute, brushing the hair back from my face. "You seem happy, so I guess it can't be anything too bad." 

"It's nothing bad. It's just … something I wanted to tell you in person." 

"Okay." She looks at me expectantly. Waiting for me to share my news. 

"Uh … well … okay … um … a few weeks ago … last month I … God, this is harder than I thought it would be. But then I haven't really had to tell anyone yet. I mean, yeah, I told Luka, but … and of course Susan knows … and Sam. But I didn't tell them. I mean, they were there and --"

"Abby? Honey?" She puts a hand on my arm, focusing my attention on her. I realize that I'm babbling and making no sense. I take a deep breath. She smiles encouragingly. I don't know why it's so hard to get the words out. 

"I don't know how to say it," I tell her in a small voice. 

"Well … then … just say it."

"Okay. Right. Well … Mom?" 

"Yes?" 

"I … I'm …" Jesus, Abby. Just say it. So I do. All in a big rush. "_I'mgonnahaveababy_." There. Done. Okay, that's better. I wait for her reaction, but there's none forthcoming. "Mom? Did you hear me? You're gonna be a grandma."

Now it's her turn to be speechless and unable to find just the right words. "Is this a joke?" she finally asks, looking around the room as if she expects someone to jump out and announce that she's being taped on a hidden camera. 

"No," I say with laugh, "It's no joke. It's a baby. Well, technically, it's a fetus. About three months old," I tell her, looking down and resting my hand lightly on my stomach. 

"You're pregnant?" I nod. "You're really pregnant?" 

"Well, I hope so or my six-months' supply of prenatal vitamins is all for nothing." 

"You're gonna have a baby?" She sounds incredulous. And why shouldn't she be shocked? After all, this has come out of nowhere.

"Yeah, I am." 

"And … it's a … good thing?" she asks, tentatively. 

"Yeah," I say with a big smile, blinking back tears that have suddenly sprung to my eyes, "It's a good thing. It's a _very_ good thing." 

"Oh, Abby," she says, her voice heavy with emotion. I see the tears in her own eyes as she reaches out and pulls me to her. "My baby is gonna have a baby. Oh my God." She takes in a sharp breath of air and then lets it out with a chuckle. "I'm gonna be a grandma." 

"Yeah." She pulls away from me, holding me at arm's length to study me. 

"You don't know how long I've wanted this, Abby." 

"Yeah, I do," I say quietly. Probably as long as I have. 

"I had no idea," she says, grinning at me. 

"Neither did I," I say under my breath, but she doesn't seem to notice. 

"Hello, in there," she says, bending down toward my stomach, putting a hand on my belly. "I'm your grandma." She looks back up at me. "Oh God, Abby, this is so great. A baby. I can't believe it. Me, a grandma. And you're gonna be a mommy. You're happy, right? You seem happy." 

"Yeah, I'm happy. Scared. Nervous. But happy." 

"And you're feeling okay?" 

"Not too bad. Tired, mostly. Before I knew I was pregnant, I was pretty sick. But that's because I thought I was just sick. Once I knew, and started behaving accordingly, I felt much better." 

"So you're eating?"

"Everything in sight," I assure her. 

"Good. You need your strength. And with those crazy hours you work …"

"Don't worry, Mom. We're getting plenty of rest."

"We?" 

"Yeah. Me … and the baby? Remember?" 

"Oh. I thought maybe you meant …" She trails off. Seems to be debating about something. "Abby? Uh … well … how did this happen?" 

"Uh … the usual way?" What? Does she want details? 

"I didn't even know you were seeing anyone." 

I kinda shrug. "I … wasn't."

"So … who is it? Who's the father?" Oh yeah. That pesky detail.

"There is no father. It's just me and this baby."

"Ooh," she says, as if she's made a sudden realization. "Well, hey. I think that's great. I mean, if you decided you wanted a child, and were ready to do it on your own … well, by whatever means necessary. I mean, I don't have any problem with you using a sperm donor." 

I can't help it. I start laughing immediately. "_Mom!_ I said it was the 'usual way' … on what planet is a sperm donor the 'usual way?' So no, it wasn't a sperm donor. Although he might as well have been," I say with just a touch of bitterness in my voice. "But no … this happened the good old fashioned way -- getting caught up in a careless moment." 

"Oh." After a short pause, "Was it Luka?" 

"Luka?" Why do people keep asking me that? "No, it's not Luka's. Luka has a new girlfriend, but not me." 

"Oh. I just thought … I mean, you mentioned before that you told him. At least I think you did." 

"In the midst of my incoherent babbling? Yeah, I did. And I did tell him. But not because he's the father. Because he was worried about me. And because I barfed in his car."

"Oh. Ouch." 

"Yeah. Definitely makes the top ten of my most embarrassing moments." 

"So?" 

"So …" I repeat. 

"Oh! Did you and John get back together?"

"Carter and I? No, we're not back together. Carter's … uh … got a new girlfriend, now, too." 

"Oh. That's right. The one that's ten thousand miles away."

"That's the one."

"Some girlfriend." 

"Oh, no. It's perfect, really. She's never here. So he can pretend she's anything he wants her to be. Works out great for him." Just a little bit of bitterness there, too. 

"Sweetie, I'm sorry things didn't work out with him." 

"It's okay. I always knew it was just a matter of time. I figured I'd find some way to screw it up. Whatever. It doesn't matter. He's got a new life now. And I've got my baby." 

"So who _is_ the father?" 

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. He's not going to be a part of this." 

"There you go again," she says. "Letting your fierce independence get in the way. Not that I don't admire your ability to take care of yourself … but Abby … a child needs a father." 

"Why? I didn't have one."

"Abby. You can't let foolish pride or stubbornness or even hurt feelings get in the way of what's best for your baby." 

"Mom, I'm not. Okay? Trust me. This isn't me being stubborn or vindictive. He can't be involved." 

"He told you that? What kind of an asshole -"

"No. He didn't tell me that. I just … know. It's not a good situation. It's better for everyone if I do this on my own." 

"Well, what did he say?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?" I shrug. "Did you even tell him?" I shake my head 'no.' "Oh, Abby. You have to tell him." 

"I can't. It wouldn't be fair." 

"To who?" 

"Anyone." 

"He has a right to know." 

"He wouldn't want to know. It would complicate things way too much. It's better that he just doesn't know." 

"Abby, I can't believe that." 

"Believe me. He doesn't want anything to do with me. He wouldn't want anything to do with this baby. And even if he did … he just can't." 

"Well, he obviously wanted something to do with you three months ago. He has a responsibility -"

"It was a mistake, all right? I mean, something incredible has come out of it … but I know that it never should have happened. He made a mistake. _We_ made a mistake. "

"Oh my God. He's married." 

"No. He's not married."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I told you. It was a mistake. We never should have …" I trail off, but then glancing down, I find myself smiling, "But I'm awfully glad that we did. He wouldn't feel that way, though. I'm the one who wants this. He wouldn't. It's the best thing that ever happened to me; it would be the worst thing that could happen to him. And I'm not gonna ruin his life. I'm not gonna let this child bear that weight. I made the choice to do this … to have this baby, knowing that I would be on my own."

"How do you know how he would feel? This isn't the kind of thing you should keep from someone. The last time -"

"This isn't like the last time. I'm having this baby." 

"And you're afraid he wouldn't want you to have the baby?" She sounds a bit confused. 

"I … I don't know what he'd want. But it doesn't matter, because not having the baby is not an option. Not this time."

"Well, sweetie, if you don't know what he would want, how do you know he wouldn't want to be involved?"

"I don't know. Maybe he would. But that would almost be just as bad as him rejecting this baby. I don't want him doing anything out of obligation …or pity." 

"It's his child, too, Abby." 

"Mom … look, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But this is my decision to make. And I already made it. This is how it has to be." 

"You're not even gonna tell me who he is? What his name is?"

"Mom …"

"You do know who he is, don't you?" 

"Mom! Of course I know who the father is." God, what kind of slut does she think I am?

"That's not what I meant. I meant, you know him … as in know his name. He's not just some anonymous stranger that you don't even have a telephone number for, is he?" 

"No, Mom. He's not some guy I picked up off the street. He's not some total stranger." 

"So what's his name?" 

I shake my head, refusing to answer. "Mom … please?" 

"Is it so much for me to want to know the name of my grandchild's father?" 

"I know it's hard for you to understand. But right now … I just want … need to keep it a secret." 

"And what are you gonna tell the baby?" 

"I don't know," I say, getting up and heading into the kitchen. I open up the fridge and start taking things out, concentrating on thinking about what I can make for lunch. 

"You don't think that your child might want to know who Daddy is?" she asks, following me to the kitchen. 

"I haven't figured that part out yet. I figure I've got plenty of time for that one. I'm more worried about what to say when -" I stop abruptly, and quickly change the subject. "Chicken salad? Or turkey club?" 

But she's not going to be distracted that easily. "Either one. But what are you worried about?" 

"Nothing," I say, waving my hand dismissively. 

"Abby."

"It's nothing."

"Don't lie to your mother, Abigail." 

"You know I hate it when you call me Abigail," I tell her, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at her. Instead I concentrate on mixing up the chicken salad. 

"Then don't lie to me. You don't know what to say when … what?" 

I roll my eyes. Oh, hell … I might as well tell her. "When he figures out that I'm pregnant." 

"What?" Her tone of voice indicates that she's wondering if she heard me right. 

"Well, he's not completely oblivious. Unless I move out of town, I think that sooner or later he might figure out that I'm pregnant." 

"You still see him? Around town, I mean?"

"Yeah, you could say that." 

"Oh, Abby. And you think you're gonna be able to keep this from him?" 

I shrug.

"What are you going to do when he asks you about the baby?" 

"I don't know. Lie?" 

"You're gonna look your baby's father in the eye and lie? Right to his face?" 

"I could always move home to Minneapolis." 

"Well, not that I wouldn't love to have you … and my grandbaby … " At the mention of the baby, she breaks into a big grin, "… close by. But Abby, you can't run from this."

"I know. And besides, this is … home. Work's here. My friends are here …" I trail off as I turn away from her, dropping slices of bread into the toaster. 

"Your baby's father is here." 

"I told you: there is no father. He's not a part of the equation. So you might as well just pretend that I did use a sperm donor." 

"But you didn't. Abby ..." I get the plates out of the cupboard and silverware out of the drawer. Finally I'm forced to turn around, and she manages to catch my eye. "Don't pretend that it doesn't make a difference. You know it does. And this man … whoever he is … has a right to know." 

"Maggie …" 

She gives me a stern, motherly look. "You need to tell him, Abby." She smiles at me, her face softening. "And then you can tell me." 

I chuckle quietly. "You're not gonna give up on that, are you?" 

"Well pardon me for wanting to know my grandchild's last name." 

"Well _that_ I can tell you." She seems excited at the prospect. "Wyczenski? Same as you."

She gives me a somewhat surprised look. "You're really serious about cutting him out completely."

"It really is for the best," I say, concentrating on the sandwiches I'm putting together. 

"I know you think that now. But you have to consider what's gonna happen a few years from now. Or even a few months from now. What are you gonna tell your child? What are you gonna tell this mystery man that's still at least on the periphery of your life? You said yourself that he'll probably wonder. What happens when the baby's born?"

"Well, if it looks like me, it won't matter." I'm instantly sorry for the flip response, but I'm not really ready to deal with this yet. 

"That's not what I meant. But let's just say the baby does look like you, and you manage to convince this poor guy --"

"Poor guy? Great, take his side. Listen Maggie, you have no idea what has gone on, you don't know -"

"Of course not. You won't tell me. And maybe you're right to keep him out of it. At least maybe that's the right thing for you. But what about the baby? When it asks where its daddy is, are you just going to tell your child that it doesn't have one and expect it to accept that? And what are you gonna put down under 'Father' on the birth certificate? 'Unknown?' Like you're some kind of common …"

"Tramp?" I supply. "Look, Mom …you're right, I haven't thought this through. I've only known about this baby for month … I was a little slow on the uptake. And I haven't figured it all out yet. All I know is that if tell the father right now, it's just gonna make both of our lives unbearably complicated. And I can't deal with that. Not yet. So I just want to keep it under wraps for as long as I can. I know perfectly well I can't hide it forever. But I just want to buy myself as much time as I can. So that I can sort things out for myself first. I don't know for sure what I'm going to do about the father … I'll have to figure it out as I go along." 

I feel myself getting a little teary, but I plunge on anyway. "But even if he eventually finds out, I'm still gonna raise this child myself. And the only thing I'm sure of in this whole thing is that I'm gonna love this baby. And take good care of him or her. And … be the best mom that I can. I just want this child to have a happy, uncomplicated childhood. I can't give my baby the perfect white-picket-fence family, so I'm gonna do whatever it takes to protect her from … constant upheaval. I don't want her life to be full of arguments between her parents, stressful situations, being shuffled between homes and having two different families. I just want it to be the two of us. Because I know that _I_ will always be there for her. And if all she's ever known is it just being the two of us, then maybe she's not gonna feel that loss so much, you know?"

"Abby … I know how much it hurt you when your dad left. But there's no reason to think that this baby's father would do the same thing. Maybe you should give him a chance."

"I can't take that risk. For myself? Maybe I would. But for this baby? No way."

"But Abby …"

"It's not just that. It wouldn't be fair to him, either. Because he'd feel obligated. And he already has other obligations. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want this child to ever feel like a burden, either. _I_ want this baby. That's what I want my child to know … a world where she's wanted so completely …"

"But what if he wants it too?" 

"He wouldn't. I told you. He'd feel compelled to live up to his responsibility, but it would just end up being a mess. I know you're trying to look out for us … but I'd really rather not talk about this anymore right now, okay? I'm having a baby. And I feel like it's something to celebrate. _I'm_ having a baby. You're gonna be a grandma. Eric's gonna be an uncle. We're gonna have new member of the Wyczenski family, such as it is. Isn't that enough?"

"Of course it's enough to celebrate. I think it's wonderful." She reaches across the table where we are seated and takes my hand in hers. "You're gonna be a great mom. This baby will be very lucky to have you." 

"It's not gonna be easy." I keep pointing this out, as much as a reminder to myself as anything else.

"No. It's not. But you won't have the problems that I did. You're already way ahead of the game." 

"Still … I … I'm gonna need your help," I say, perhaps for the first time in my life. 

"Well, you've got it. Whatever I can do, Abby. Just say the word. I'll come and stay for a while when the baby's born, if you want. You can call me at 3 a.m. when you're up with a colicky baby -- I've had some experience with that." 

"Was I a colicky baby?" 

"No, your brother. Do you remember how he used to cry?" I shake my head because my memories of Eric's infancy are somewhat blurry and sketchy. "Well, he did. Most of the day and night the first few months of his life. But not you. You were the perfect baby." 

"_I_ was?" I asked, surprised. I never would have guessed. 

"Like a little angel. You didn't cry much. You used to wake up laughing, in fact." 

"I did?" 

"Yeah. I wish you could remember it, Abby. Because for a while there, we were happy. The day I found out I was pregnant with you was the best day of my life. Until the day you were born. I don't know what it was … maybe something about all those pregnancy hormones, but the whole time I was pregnant with you, and even after you were born, I was good. Not depressed. Not too happy. Your first couple of years … those were probably the best years of my life … at least until these last few. But you were such a sweet child. Pleasant and cheerful. And I felt so luck to have you. I loved you so much. There's nothing quite like the love you feel for your baby. You'll see." 

"Oh, I already know," I say, taking a break from my lunch and letting my hand fall to my belly. 

"Just wait. What you feel now is amazing, but once that baby is born …"

"It gets stronger?" 

"Oh, yeah. The first time I held you … it was like you were the only thing that mattered. I just wish it could have stayed that way. That's what I wanted … to put you and Eric first, but …"

"It's okay, Mom. It was the disease." Because I know that's true. And more and more I'm coming to realize that she really does love me. And not just in her own odd way, but the way any normal mother loves her daughter. She wouldn't be here now, I guess, if she didn't. 

"Yes, it was the disease. But that doesn't mean that I don't wish things could have been different. But they will be for this baby. She'll always know that she's the most important thing to you. To us. That she comes first in this family." 

"Well, we don't want to spoil her … or him. A little hardship isn't always a bad thing."

"But it's probably nice to be able to count on your mother being there for you. Or just being there. At least your child won't have to worry about waking up to find you gone."

"No. But I'm worried about all the other things I'll inevitably mess up." 

"Don't worry so much. I messed up with you in just about every way possible, honey. But look how you turned out." 

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"You don't mean that. Look at you. You've been through so much, and you've managed to keep yourself afloat. You're starting a new career … as a _doctor_, for goodness sake. And now you're making me a grandma." I can't help but smile in response to the ecstatic expression on her face when she says that word, 'grandma.' "I don't think you've turned out so bad. Now if you could just work out this nonsense about the baby's father …" 

"_Mom_." 

"You're really not going to tell me?"

"No." 

"Your own mother?"

"No. Not now. Can't we just go back to the part where you're all excited about becoming a _grandma_? Let's just concentrate on that."

"I'm gonna be a grandma." 

"Yeah, you are."

"A grandma."

"Don't you have anything else to say about it?" I ask her. 

She stops and thinks for a minute, giving me a long look. Finally, a smile creeps across her face.

"Well," she says, "… it's about time." 


	5. When You Assume

__

Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea 

Summary: Abby's having a baby. But who's the daddy? 

Author's Note: Big thanks to COURTNEY, LISA and BETH. Sorry it took so long for this update, but I've been sick so the writing thing wasn't happening for a while there. Yes, I am working on new chapters for my other fics. No, I don't have any finished yet. And just to clear up a little old business -- Lynn, I didn't think that *you* were demanding anything of me in your review of chapter 3. On the contrary, I thought your review was sweet. I was upset with other people's 'demands' and considering not posting chapter 4 for a while because of those 'demands.' But then you left a nice review, and it changed my mind. (For more on this subject, see the review I left for myself.) As for the delay with this chapter … well, I promise that wasn't intentional. And at least it's a long one and hopefully, worth the wait. Anyway, I hope to get chapter 6 up more quickly, but if I'm working on updates of other fics, I don't how long it'll take. But remember, nothing inspires me to write more than detailed reviews. 

*~*~*~* 

Chapter 5: When You Assume

"Damn it!" I hang up the phone with a bang. 

"What's wrong?" Abby asks, appearing at my elbow.

"Nothing," I say with a sigh. 

"It didn't sound like nothing," she says, her voice taking on a singsong quality. "Who was on the phone?" 

I might as well tell her, she'll just keep after me until I do. "Chuck." 

"What did he do?" she asks, with a knowing half smile.

"Nothing. He just has to work tonight. Pulling a double." 

"Oh. And he's skipping out on a hot date?" 

"Not exactly. We were supposed to go to a childbirth class."

"Oh, fun." 

"I know it's kinda silly. It's not like I haven't been at hundreds of births … so it's probably completely unnecessary, but …"

"Hey, I understand," she says, and then drops her voice down to a whisper, "I was an OB nurse, and I'll probably go myself." 

"Actually, it is kinda fun," I tell her. And it is so far. Even if I already know most of the information that's being dispensed, the reminder never hurts. It's sort of reassuring. "Of course, going alone …" 

"I'll go with you ."

"What?"

"Well, we were supposed to get together later anyway so …"

"What? We were?" 

"Susan. Don't tell me you forgot."

"Um …"

"_Susan._" She sounds a little perturbed. But I honestly have no memory of making plans with her for tonight. 

"You know what pregnancy does to the memory. Just give me a little refresher." 

"I was going to come over. Bring pizza. You were going to help me study. Remember?" 

"No. I'm sorry, Abby." I can't believe I totally blanked on this whole thing. 

"No problem. We'll go to your class and then we can pick up the pizza and go back to your place." 

"Okay. But are you sure you really wanna go with me?"

"Sure, why not? I can be your back-up coach. And this way, I'll get a head start." She pauses, and then looks at me with a sly smile. "But you have to do something for me." 

"Be _your_ birthing coach?" I ask under my breath since we are now walking down a crowded hallway, and I know that Abby's condition isn't common knowledge yet. 

"Actually, I was just going to ask you to lance the boil on Mr. Burnbaum's butt. But if you're offering …" 

I know Abby well enough to know that this is probably as close as she'll ever get to actually asking for my help. "I'd be honored." 

"To lance the boil? Exam four." 

"No, to be your coach." 

"Susan, I was kidding. I think you might be a little busy," she points out, looking down at my rather enormous belly. 

"They do allow babies in the delivery suites, you know." 

"You're gonna bring the baby?" 

"Well, last week in class we did talk about having a focal object, and the instructor suggested something to remind you of the ultimate goal. Now what could be a better reminder than an actual baby?" 

"Wouldn't you be a little bit distracted?" 

"Of course not," I tell her. "I'm going to have a very obedient child who will just sleep quietly if I have something else I need to do. Right, sweetie?" I ask, rubbing my belly and getting a couple of kicks back in response. 

"Thanks for that," Abby says, chuckling, "I needed a good laugh." I follow her into the deserted lounge, and sink gratefully into the couch. It's already getting hard to be on my feet for hours at a time. Ah, Abby, you have so much to look forward to. I think I'll keep it to myself for now, though. 

"Well, I'll figure something out. But the offer still stands."

"Really?" She pulls a container of yogurt out of the fridge and opens it up. Must be time for the infamous hour-after-lunch snack. Of course, I'm happy to join in when she passes me some yogurt and a spoon of my own.

"Yeah, sure. And since you seem determined to keep the you-know-who out of this whole thing … I'm not gonna let you go through it alone. I told you, we're in this together."

"Well, I guess it is the least you could do … after that nonsense about Luka." 

"Well, what was I supposed to think? After all, you rushed out and told him … so I just assumed it was because it also pertained to him. How was I supposed to know that you're keeping the whole thing a secret? I still can't believe you won't tell." 

"It's better that he doesn't know … at least right now."

"Him? You mean Mr. Sperm Donor?"

"Susan … I told you, it wasn't …" 

"I know, but that's pretty much what you've turned him into." 

"Look, can we please not do this right now? I'll tell him if and when the time is right." 

"Tell him? Who cares about him? I can't believe you won't tell me who he is!" 

"Oh."

"Oh? C'mon, Abby … how about a little hint?"

"No."

"At least tell me if I know him."

"No."

"No, I don't know him? Or no, you won't tell me?"

"No, I won't tell you. Listen, as long as he doesn't know … I don't think anyone else should know about him."

"So maybe you should tell him."

"Why?" she asks with a teasing smile, "So that you'll know who he is?" 

"No, of course not," I pause and think for a minute, "Okay, maybe." I can't help it. Not knowing is driving me crazy. I understand why she doesn't want to tell me. But still, I wish she _would_ tell me. "Seriously, Abby … don't you think he has a right to know?" 

"No," she shakes her head emphatically. "As far as I'm concerned, he is nothing more than a sperm donor."

"I don't understand. What happened? I mean, he won't talk to you? He ignored your phone calls? Did you have a big fight? What?" I really do wish that I knew a little bit more about the situation because I'd like to help her in any way that I can. 

"No. It's just … we never should have been together in the first place. That night never should have happened. It was a weak moment … but he shouldn't have to pay for that for the rest of his life." 

"Pay for it?" I'm a little confused because if you ask me, he's paying for his behavior, whatever it was, _now--_ with Abby's refusal to clue him in.

"Believe me, the last thing he needs is to know about this baby. And this child doesn't need a father who's only around out of obligation. Besides, why should he be obligated, he didn't get a say in the matter -- there was no way that I was going to change my mind about having the baby. This was my choice, not his. And I don't need him around making things miserable for me. All I need to be happy is my baby. And we'll be just fine on our own. With a little help from my friends, of course," she says, giving me a brave smile. But something tells me that in spite of her bravado, this is bothering her more than she's letting on. I mean, it has to be. This isn't something I picture her taking lightly. 

"But Abby, he was there. Don't you think that means he has a responsibility?" 

"No. My baby, my body, my decision. And that cuts both ways. In the same way that I wouldn't a man forcing me to have a child that I didn't want, it wouldn't be fair for me to force him into something that _I _want, just because I want it. Why should he have to suffer the consequences of a decision I made on my own? A decision that I couldn't let him in on because it was made for me … in those moments after I got the test results back -- there was no decision to be made, really. I knew I had to have this child. Even though I knew that wouldn't be the best thing for him. So even before I knew that for sure that there was a baby, I knew I'd be doing it myself. And I'm really okay with that."

"Abby …" I just can't believe that she's fine with writing off her child's father. I mean, I know that if I had to, I could do this on my own. If things don't work out with Chuck and the brunt of the parenting falls to me, I could do it. But I can't imagine being so willing to just forget his existence, no matter what the circumstances. From all the conversations that Abby and I have had about her pregnancy, it doesn't seem like the guy is a perpetual loser, a dangerous druggie, or a hardened criminal … someone she has to protect her child from. And she's assured me that her pregnancy isn't a product of rape, but that it was definitely "consensual if ill-fated" whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I was especially confused when she followed up that statement by saying it was the "luckiest misfortune" of her life. 

"I know that you probably think that I'm kidding myself, but I'm really not." She stops, fiddles around with the empty yogurt container, and seems to be considering what to say next. When she speaks, her voice is calm, but still full of emotion. There are no tears, but I can tell by the look on her face, that it's a subject close to her heart. 

"I … I've wanted this for a long time. At least, somewhere deep down I wanted it. But I was so worried about taking the risks … for myself, for a baby … and for the unfortunate innocent bystander that would be my child's father and would necessarily get caught up in all the family melodrama. Even if the child is perfect, my family is not. I can maybe protect my child from that … or at least shield him from the worst of it. But I can't imagine how hard it would be to come from outside of a family like mine … and to have to look at your child and wonder if he's gonna grow up and be like this crazy family that you've gotten sucked into. At least I'm prepared … and used to it. And at least this child won't know to be afraid of it, not having ever known anything else. But an outsider … I don't want to do that to anyone. This way I don't have to. It really is better if I don't tell him."

Her child's father? And she feels she can't even tell him that she's pregnant? That can't be an easy thing to deal with. Things aren't necessarily perfect between Chuck and I, but I can't imagine having to keep something like our baby from him, even if I thought it was for his -- or the baby's-- own good.

"You're protecting him." 

"I'm protecting everyone. And if things aren't always easy for me, that's okay. I don't mind … because I'm getting something that I always wanted. And I'm willing to pay the price, whatever that may be. It's bad enough that I'm deciding to take on this risk for my baby, but … at least I didn't ask for this to happen. It just did. And I think that if I'm ready to face the risks, it'll be okay. I think I'm ready to be a decent parent. And I figure as far as the baby's concerned, a small chance of inheriting a horrible disease or the somewhat greater chance of getting stuck with a mom who doesn't know what the hell she's doing is better than the alternative. I didn't always think that was the case, but I do now. Of course, I'm not such a mess myself these days …" 

"Abby, I didn't say that having the baby was the wrong thing." I pat my belly, thinking of the little person in there who's busy kicking me all day long. "I think it's a great idea. A built-in best friend for my little munchkin. You don't have to convince me."

"No, I have to convince myself. I just have to convince you that I'm doing the right thing by keeping the father out of this." 

"No, you don't have to convince me. It's your call. But sometimes … sometimes we can be so desperate to keep the people that we care about safe, that we're a little too overprotective."

"It's my baby, Susan." The firm set of her jaw tells me that this is something she is terribly serious about. 

"I thought it was the father you were protecting." 

"I'm trying to protect the baby, too."

"From its own father?" 

"No," she says, with a faraway look on her face, but a clear, determined look in her eyes. "From being rejected by him. That's not something any kid should have to go through. At least this way there'll be the comfort of knowing that he never knew."

"And your child can hate you for keeping it from him." 

"Or _thank me _for keeping it from him." 

"You really think that would happen, Abby? That your child would be grateful to you for keeping its father away from it?" 

She looks at me but I can see her disengage. She's not gonna talk about this anymore.

"Okay, okay, I give up," I tell her, waving my hands in the air. 

"Gee, thanks. You're too kind," she says with the utmost sarcasm. 

"You know, I hear that all the time," Sam says, as she enters the room. "Usually in just about that tone, too." 

"Well Susan deserves that tone, she's trying to drive me crazy."

"Yeah?" Sam asks.

"Yeah. And it's _none of her business_," Abby stresses as she heads across the room, turning to give me a significant look.

"Let me guess," Sam says, "She was asking you about the you-know-what's you-know-who."

"Exactly," Abby tells her.

"Susan, leave Abby alone," Sam chides. "She's got enough to worry about; she doesn't need you pestering her." 

"_Thank_ you," Abby says to Sam, looking back at me as she heads toward the door, and sticking her tongue out at me as a parting gesture. 

Sam waits until the door closes behind Abby and then turns to me. "So what did you get out of her?" 

"Nothing," I say with disappointment. "Wait a minute … what happened to minding our own business?" 

"I didn't say we should mind our own business. I just said you should stop bugging her." 

"Well, how am I going to get anything out of her if I don't bug her?" 

"Good point," she concedes.

"And by the way, thanks for throwing me under the bus. Pretending like you're all about respecting Abby's privacy when I know damn well you want to know just as much as I do."

Sam stirs her coffee and the look on her face makes me think that she's torn between perpetuating her virtue and giving in to her curiosity. She finally makes up her mind and asks, "So she really didn't give up anything?"

"Nope. Nothing. All I know is the baby was a product of consensual sex with some guy that Abby's not really dating but cares enough about to want to protect him." 

"Protect him?" 

"Well, that's why she's not telling him about the baby. Or so I gather. I think _she_ thinks that she's protecting the baby … but I'm not so sure." 

"So who do you think the guy is?" 

"I don't know," I tell her. God knows I've been thinking about it enough. But I still haven't come up with any good possibilities. "We don't even know if it's anyone we know." 

"Well, let's just assume it is. Any good candidates around here?"

I laugh, a bit derisively, I must admit. "Not especially. At least we can eliminate Luka." 

"Or so I hope."

"She wouldn't lie about that."

"Oh, really? If she was trying to protect him?"

"She wouldn't lie to you. He wouldn't lie to you. It's not Luka."

"And it's not Chuck." 

"So I hope," I say, giving her a grin. 

"Well, that's two down. Who's left?" 

"Too bad about Romano … he would have been my first choice."

Sam gives me a disgusted look. Then smiles, slyly. "What about Frank?" 

"Married. Not to mention disgusting."

"Jerry?" she suggests.

"Gross." 

"Hey!" She snaps her fingers. "What about Lester."

"_Lester_?" I'm incredulous that the thought would even cross her mind. "That's really gross."

"Well, they did have a few 'study' dates." 

"It's a long leap between study group and pregnancy." 

"Well, you never know," she says, philosophically, before cracking a smile, "Maybe they were studying anatomy."

I roll my eyes. "Somehow I just don't see it." 

"You have any brilliant suggestions?" She asks.

"Um … well, there's always Morris." 

"Morris?" 

I shrug. "The way she pushes him around all the time … I wouldn't want to know what that relationship would be like."

"I see whips and chains." 

"Well, Abby did once contemplate a career as a dominatrix." 

"What?" Sam asks with a surprised chuckle. Guess she couldn't tell from my deadpan delivery that I was joking.

"Never mind."

"Morris? Really? Well. That red hair _is_ kinda sexy." 

"Sexy, huh?" I ask, somewhat skeptical.

"In a Howdy Doody sort of way."

"Nah, I don't think it could be Morris. Too creepy." 

"What about his friend? The cute one?" 

"Coop?" 

"Yeah," she agrees. 

"I don't think he's been around enough lately to give Abby a common cold, much less get her pregnant." 

"Hmm … well, we're running out of possibilities." 

"Running out? Like we ever had any decent possibilities."

"Well, maybe it is someone we don't know." 

"I'm stumped … unless -" I stop abruptly, not wanting to even complete the thought in my head, certainly not wanting to say it out loud. 

"Unless…" Sam prods. 

"Nothing. Nothing."

"Susan …"

"No, it's crazy. Never mind." 

"_Susan._"

"Forget it," I tell her, hauling my swollen self up off the couch. "I have to get back to work, anyway. I've got a bunch of barfing bag-pipers to check on."

"Huh?" 

"Food poisoning," I explain. 

"Enjoy that," she offers as I walk toward the door. I throw her a little wave and a sarcastic smile as I head out the door. I can't say as I really enjoy the nine puking pipers, or any of the other patients for that matter, all of whom seem to be of the demanding, whining, and in one instance, biting variety. 

"You look like you could use a break," Abby says, finding me with my head resting on my arms as I sit at the desk in the corridor pretending to work on charts. 

"I think I'm already taking one." I look up to see her peering down at me.

"You look hungry. Are you hungry? You must be. We're hungry. Let's hit the Jumbo Mart." She grabs at my arm, encouraging me to get up. She's practically hopping up and down. Little Miss Energetic all of a sudden. But that's probably been inspired by the thought of all the junk food lining the shelves of the convenience store across the street. As much as I'd like to stay here for the rest of the day just enjoying the little thumps and bumps from within, I know it's not gonna happen. And now that Abby mentions it, food does have a certain appeal. 

"So what are we looking for?" I ask her. "Chili dogs? Doughnuts? Nachos?" 

She wrinkles her nose at me, shaking her head in what seems to be disgust. Maybe I hit on an aversion. "No, I want something …" 

"What?"

"Healthier?" she finally says, with a little shrug. 

"And we're going to the Jumbo Mart? Good luck with that." 

We scour the shelves trying to come up with a healthy alternative to the usual junk food. Which is why I end up with a jar of peanut butter and a package of bologna. Oh well, what the hell? Might as well get the baby addicted to preservatives and fat now. I'm considering adding pickles to the mix -- hey, it's a vegetable, right? -- when Abby pops around the corner with a pre-packaged fruit salad in one hand and a block of cheese in the other. Okay, now we've got all the food groups represented. However, seeing her fruit makes me feel a bit guilty about my bologna. 

"They sell fruit here?" I ask in surprise. I didn't know that. That's gonna be my defense. Ignorance. 

"Yeah, over there in the refrigerator case … just under the bologna," she says, inspecting the package in my hands. Then she notices the display I'm standing front of. "Pickles? Really? Isn't that a bit cliché?" 

"Maybe. But I like pickles. What are you planning to do with that cheese?" 

"Um … eat it?" 

"Well, I know that. But how? Are you gonna just rip open the package and gnaw off a piece?"

"Maybe. Or, you know, I could use a knife to slice it. If they haven't all been removed from the lounge in an effort to keep us all from slitting our wrists."

"Or you could get the stuff that's already sliced and we could have a picnic."

"A picnic?" The little smile she gives me tells me that she thinks I might be a bit crazy. 

"Well, we could sit on that bench on the side of the building and bask in the sun."

"Okay, I'm sold. I'll get some sliced cheese, you get some crackers. And I'll meet you by the slushy machine."

"Slushies?" I ask when we meet at the appointed spot. 

"I know it's nothing but sugar, but I can't help it. It's become something of an obsession, I think. I don't miss a day of visiting this slushy machine." 

And, in fact, her eyes have gotten wide and she's practically licking her lips at the thought of the fruit-flavored ice concoction. I leave her muttering to herself about the benefits of cherry versus blue raspberry and head to the check-out. Oh, chocolate bars. Now what could possibly go better with peanut butter than chocolate? A few minutes later we are out the door with a big bag of goodies. And I only had to sell my car to pay for it. That's what I get for doing my grocery shopping at the convenience store, I guess. We claim our spot on the coveted sun-drenched bench and dig into our lunch, eating straight out of the packages, using a plastic knife to slather the crackers with peanut butter. Now this is my kind of lunch. Oh wait, we already had lunch. Okay, this is my kind of afternoon snack. Oh, already had that too. Oops. Oh, well. 

Abby's practically moaning in delight next to me as she chomps into a cracker covered in peanut butter and layered up with cheese and a pickle. Wow. Yeah, that's just gross. And at this point I'm more than a little bit jealous that I spent months upchucking anything that wasn't plain yogurt, and here Abby is eating all manner of disgusting crap without blinking an eye. I'm seriously thinking about knocking over her beloved slushy just for spite, when a shadow suddenly crosses my face. I look up to see some man standing in front of us, looking at Abby. He looks familiar. I think he may be a fellow County doctor. Of course, the white coat, stethoscope, and County ID badge probably helped me considerably in coming to that conclusion.

"Abby?" he asks, smiling down at her. Well, well, well. What is this? I look up at our intruder with a more appraising eye. Not bad. Cute. Dimple in his chin. Dark hair. Nice eyes. Good smile. Hmm. And just how does he know Abby?

A quick glance over at Abby reveals that her cheeks have begun to tint. She swallows hastily and looks up, smiling an odd smile. She seems embarrassed … or something. 

"Oh … hi." Maybe it's my imagination, but she seems to be a bit uncomfortable, choking out the words. 

"I thought that was you," he says, giving her a charming smile. "Enjoying a late lunch?"

"Yeah." Okay, she definitely seems ill at ease now.

"Well, it is a beautiful day for it. I love spring. Don't you just love spring?" 

"Yeah." Well, she's definitely mastered that whole one-word answer thing. I nudge her foot with mine, getting no response. So I put my foot on top of hers and apply a little pressure. 

"Ah … hey," she says somewhat indignantly when the pain registers. She turns to me and gives me a "what was that for?" look. I return it with "what the hell is wrong with you?" look, sliding my eyes toward Dr. Dimple, standing just next to us. 

"Oh!" Abby seems to brighten up suddenly, pasting on a smile. "Uh, Susan Lewis, this is Matt Gillespie. Susan, Matt. Matt, Susan. Matt's a pediatric resident. He was working in the NICU when I was doing my rotation," she explains to me. 

"And Abby was our NICU star," this Dr. Gillespie says. I turn toward Abby in time to see the tag end of a typical eye roll. "You were," he assures her before turning to me. "I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to finally meet the infamous Susan Lewis." 

"Infamous?" I ask skeptically. "I know some of my ER escapades are _legendary_ but infamous? I didn't realize that word had traveled outside the ER." 

"Are you kidding? Everyone knows who you are."

"Everyone?" This is news to me. What? Am I some kind of County General celebrity? They should really send out memos for these things. 

"Well, everyone who spent a month in the box with Abby, anyway." Month in the box? Kinky. I turn and give Abby a questioning look.

"The box is what Matt calls the NICU," Abby clarifies. 

"Stuck in there with Abby for a month, and it was nothing but Susan this and Susan that."

"Oh, please," Abby interjects, "I told you , like, two stories." 

"Yeah, but they were good stories," Matt counters. 

"They must have been, if they were enough to make me infamous." 

"She really did talk about you all the time," he says to me in a confiding tone of voice.

"Oh, I did not." 

"You didn't?" I ask Abby. "Why not?" 

"She did. If I were you, I'd watch out. I think she might be secretly in love with you." 

"Matt's working on his stand-up routine. But there's a reason he hasn't quit his day job."

He turns toward me. "Don't pay any attention to her. She's just mad because I wouldn't let her inspect my body art."

"Body _art?_ I thought it was just the one tattoo." 

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not especially." 

I observe this little exchange with amusement. We've gone from glaringly awkward to oddly flirtatious in a matter of moments. However, he seems to be having much more fun with this than Abby. In spite of the lightheartedness of the conversation, she seems tense and poised for flight. Well, now … I wonder what this is about. 

"Heeellloo, earth to Susan." Abby's voice suddenly reverberates through my head. Guess she wants to get my attention. 

"Huh? What?" 

"Never mind," Abby says, shaking her head and looking bemused. "Don't mind her … she's not in her right mind these days." 

"Well, I hear pregnancy can do that to you," Matt says. "When are you due?" 

"Me?" I ask, without thinking. When I glance over at Abby, I see that the flush in her cheeks has deepened. I only pause a moment, but it's long enough for Abby to give me a nudge with her foot and a wide-eyed, significant look. 

"Well, you are the only one who's pregnant," Dr. Matt points out. 

Abby's giving me something of a pleading look, like she thinks I might just blurt out her secret. Okay, so I might not always be thinking clearly these days, but I'm not quite that out of it. It was a momentary lapse, not realizing who Matt was talking to originally. 

"When am I due?" I finally respond, "Not soon enough."

This gets a chuckle from Abby, whether from relief, embarrassment, or agreement, I don't know. 

"Ah, it'll be here before you know it. And it'll all be worth it once you have that healthy baby. Right, Abby?" I turn to look at her in time to catch her choking and sputtering over her slushy. She looks panicky. What? Does she think he's figured it out? And so what if he did? "If there's one thing that a NICU rotation will teach you, it's just how lucky anyone is to have a healthy baby."

"Oh … yeah. NICU is … an eye-opener," Abby agrees. But her voice sounds even more quiet and removed than before. Great, she's probably sitting there thinking up a bunch of horrible scenarios -- all the ways her baby could end up in the NICU. Premature birth, birth trauma, congenital defects … oh great, now _I'm_ thinking up a bunch of horrible scenarios. I rub the round bump of my belly. Okay, yeah … I didn't mean that about how this baby can't arrive soon enough. Just stay in there as long as you're supposed to, baby. 

Matt seems to sense the shift the mood, and to his credit, seems to realize what caused it. "I'm sorry," he says, "I shouldn't have mentioned the you-know-where. I'm sure that everything will be just fine, and that you'll never have to set foot inside the place. And, you know, if you're in need of a pediatrician … I'm sure I'm the last person you'd ever call."

"Despite not knowing when to keep his mouth shut, Matt really is a very good pediatrician," Abby tells me. 

"And you'd be great, too. You should really think about it … NICU, Pedes …we'd be thrilled to have you. Really."

"Thanks," she says to him, "But I'm not sure it's for me."

"I think she's a bit addicted to the adrenaline rush of the ER," I supply.

"Oh. Well, if you ever change your mind …" She nods and gives him a small smile. "It was great bumping into you again. But I really have to get going. I'm meeting someone." He gestures down the street toward Ike's and then turns to me. "It was nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah, likewise. And no offense, but I hope I never have to see you again." He looks a bit startled. I pat the belly and raise my eyebrows at him. "You know, in the NICU." 

"Oh, right. Gotcha. Me too. And Abby?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Good luck." 

"Thanks." 

He stands and looks at her for a minute, like maybe there's something more that he wants to say. But since Abby seems to be doing her best to not look at him, he finally just departs with a wave over his shoulder. I lean forward as much as possible so that I can watch as he makes his way down the street, where he is joined by a cute redhead in a white lab coat. Judging by the way he tosses his arm around her shoulders, and she plants a kiss on his cheek, I'm guessing this isn't a business lunch. Next to me, Abby heaves a huge sigh. Relief? Frustration? I'm not sure. When I turn my head, I see that she's looking in the same direction that I was. Although the minute she catches my eyes, she makes herself busy with the remnants of our lunch. 

"Damn. I was so sure."

"So sure of what?" Abby asks cautiously.

"That he liked you."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all you have to say? Some cute doc was over here flirting with you and that's your only comment. Oh?" 

"He wasn't flirting," she says, somewhat indignantly, as she stands up and gathers up our garbage, taking it over to a nearby garbage can. 

"He wasn't? What do you call it?" 

"I don't know. Being friendly? Being … Matt? It was nothing."

"Nothing?" I ask as we make our way back across the street. "So there's nothing between you?"

"No! And you saw the same thing I saw. He clearly has a … girlfriend. So can we just drop it?" 

"You don't have to be so defensive about it." 

"I'm not. But we can please just change the subject?" 

"Fine. Why were you so worried that I might spill the beans about your secret?" 

"Um … because it's a secret? So by definition I don't want the beans spilled about it?" 

"How long do you really expect to keep this under wraps?" I ask, looking down at my own belly and thinking that sooner or later, Abby's gonna be broadcasting the 'secret' herself to the entire world. "Baggy shirts and the layered look won't work forever." 

"I don't know. For as long as possible, I guess."

"Sooner or later, mother nature is gonna reveal the truth, you know."

"I'm not worried about mother nature. I'm more worried about my flaky friends." She gives me a look. Hey, I think I should be offended by that. I'm just about to say something when Abby goes on. "God, for a minute there, I was sure he was gonna figure it out." 

"Would that have been so bad?" 

"Yes!" 

"Why?" I probably shouldn't push her buttons like this … but it's all her fault really. If she would just be honest with me … 

"Because I don't want him -- or anyone to know. You know that." 

"Yeah, but what difference would it make if he knew? Do you really think he's gonna run back and tell everyone in Pediatrics?"

"Yes." 

"Why? Why would they care? And why would you care if they know? I mean, it's not like Jerry finding out or something."

"Bite your tongue. My God, if Jerry finds out, the entire Chicago metropolitan area will know by dinner."

"So see? By comparison, Matt finding out would have been nothing."

"I think you're missing the point, Susan. I don't want anyone to know. Especially not Matt." She says that last part under her breath, but I catch it anyway. 

"But I know. Sam knows. Luka knows. And people are gonna find out." I still don't get why she should care so much if some guy that she doesn't even work with anymore should happen to find out. Unless … the gears start turning and suddenly it makes sense. Abby's nervousness, defensiveness, her paranoia about someone who should be nothing more than an acquaintance finding out her big secret. 

"Look, I know people are gonna find out. But I'm not ready for it yet." She sounds upset, angry even. I guess she has a right. "And it's my decision. I'll tell everyone when I'm ready. Or when I have no other choice. I know you're just trying to look out for me, but this is my business, okay?" 

"Okay, okay," I say giving in. "You're right. I'm sorry. Are you mad at me?" 

"No… sorry if I snapped at you. I'm not mad, I'm just …" 

"Pregnant?" I suggest, but quietly, since we've reached the doors of the ambulance bay. Wouldn't want anyone to overhear me. 

"Yeah. I guess." 

Just then the doors slide open, and Carter walks out. 

"Hey, I've got a GSW to the chest about to roll in, and I could use a hand." 

"Don't look at me," I tell him. "I've got an LOL with a fever waiting for me." 

"Abby? I'll let you do the chest tube," he offers. 

"Gee, you're too good to me." Her delivery is perfectly flat and accompanied by an eye roll. But I notice she pulls a pair of gloves from her pocket, apparently planning to stay. 

I go on inside and check on my little old lady, work up a few other patients, and keep my eye out for Sam. Normally she's barreling down the hallways barking at patients and docs alike, but today she's nowhere to be found. Probably off in radiology with Luka, having a nooner. At four o'clock in the afternoon. Oh, well. Soon enough I spy her striding past the windows of curtain 3 where I'm just answering the same question for a patient for about the thirtieth time. Yes, just keep the bandaged area dry. Is it that complicated? I make my excuses, leaving Chuny to finish up the aftercare instructions. 

"Sam? Sam!" I chase after her as best I can in my current condition. "Hey wait … do you have a minute?" 

"Uh, not really … why? What do you need?" 

"It's about Abby." 

"Is she okay?" Sam asks immediately. 

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, she's fine."

"Good. So …"

"So … I think I figured it out." I tell her, steering her into an empty exam room. 

"Figured what out?"

"You know."

"You mean, who's the daddy?" she asks. 

"Uh-huh."

"Really?" I've got her attention now. "So who is it? How did you get her to tell you?" 

"She … didn't. And I'm not _sure_, but …"

"So what happened?" 

"Well, we went across the street to the Jumbo Mart for a snack."

"Mm, shocking." 

"Do you wanna hear this or not?" I ask her.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course I do."

"Okay, so we're sitting there eating our snack when this guy shows up and starts talking to Abby. Turns out he's a pediatrician who was working in the NICU when she was doing her rotation."

"And?"

"And Abby got … all weird."

"Well, that's really telling," she says sarcastically. 

"No, it was like … awkward. He seemed fine. Wanted to make small talk with her. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. And she was absolutely freaked out at the thought of him finding out she was pregnant." 

"She doesn't want anyone finding out she's pregnant." 

"I know, but this seemed to go beyond that. And she was just so odd with him. And I just got this … vibe. Plus, he walked off and met up with some redhead." 

"So?"

"So Abby keeps talking about how she can't burden the father since he's moved on and all. Think about it."

"I am thinking about it. And I think those pregnancy hormones have gone to your head." 

"You don't believe me?" 

"Well … let's just say I think your evidence is a little shaky." 

"You weren't there. You didn't see them." 

"Nooo, but …"

"But?"

"But I don't think that a little awkwardness and paranoia makes for a love affair gone bad."

"Who said anything about a love affair?" I ask. 

"Oh, what? You just think it was a little slap and tickle in one of the incubators?" Sam asks sarcastically.

"Oh, be serious. Why couldn't they have had some sort of fling? I mean, that's pretty much what Abby said, right?" 

"I think you're grasping at straws," Sam says as she heads toward the door and pulls it open. 

"Oh really? I don't know. I think there's something there. She reacted to this guy so strangely … she hasn't done that with anyone else around here." 

"But you don't even know that it is someone around here." 

"I know, but …" 

"Look, there's one way to know for sure." I give her a blank look. "Just ask her." 

"Ask her?" 

"Why not? If you're so sure, just ask her."

"Okay. Maybe I will."

So I decide to do just that. Naturally, I don't see Abby for the rest of the afternoon. Just about the time I give up on finding her, she manages to find me.

"Are you ready?" she asks me, poking her head around the door of my locker. 

"Ready?" 

"For … _your_ … birthing class?"

"Oh my God, what time is it?" 

"Ten 'til. It's at seven, right?" 

"Yeah. I can't believe I forgot." 

She gives me a long look. "You're gonna blame this forgetting thing on the pregnancy again, aren't you?" 

"You know it." 

"Great. A preview of things to come for me. I can't wait until the day I forget my own name."

"Hey, I'm not that bad. Yet."

The expression on her face suggests that she does think I'm that bad. Just because I forgot our study date and my own birthing class? 

"Don't we need pillows or something?" Abby asks as we make our way down the hall. 

"I usually steal some from the linen closet." 

"Good plan." We make a slight detour to pick up the pillows on our way to the elevator.

"Thanks for coming with me. I could have gone on my own, but this will be much more fun." 

She shrugs, "It's no big deal. It _will_ be fun. In addition to getting a sneak preview of what's in store for me, I get to pretend to be Chuck for an evening. What could be more fun?" 

"Pretend to be Chuck? Well, I hope your belching and scratching are up to par." 

"Susan … Chuck's a great guy." She says this somewhat disapprovingly, like maybe I shouldn't be taking shots at the father of my child who just happened to ditch me tonight.

"Yeah, he is. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't do a lot of belching and scratching." 

"Well, he's a man." Which just about sums it up, I guess. 

We join the class and settle in, with introductions all around so that everyone can meet Chuck's replacement. Between the video that we watch and the part of class where we are expected to listen and participate, it's a long time before I get a chance to quiz Abby. We're supposed to be working on our breathing exercises, but really, does breathing require that much practice?

"Hee hee hee," Abby demonstrates for me, indicating that I should follow along. When she doesn't get an enthusiastic enough response from me she says, "Susan. C'mon. You're supposed to be practicing."

"What's to practice? I already know how to say 'epidural.' And I'm pretty good with the hees, too. So are you, by the way." 

"I would hope so, by now. I spent a lot of years helping women 'hee' their way through labor."

"Will you be there?" I ask, suddenly remembering Abby's vast experience in this area.

"Be where?" she asks. 

"Be there when the baby's born." 

"When your baby's born?"

"Well, you kinda have to be there for yours. But yeah, would you be there when I have this baby?" 

"Really?" 

"Well, yeah. You're my back-up coach now, you better do something to earn that title. Besides, I'm a little worried about Chuck."

"Susan … he's a _nurse_. I don't think he's gonna pass out on you." 

"No, it's not that. It's just … you know how Chuck is. Everything's a joke. Which is great -- it's one of the things that I love about him. But I'm just worried …well, that he might not get it. And it would be nice to know that someone will be there that does. Get it, that is. And if I'm coming to your birth, it's only fair that you should come to mine. If you want to."

"I'd love to."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." She gives me a big smile and seems really happy that I asked. Okay, while I've got her all buttered up, this seems like the perfect time to ask some nosy questions. 

"So … about this Dr. Gillespie …" 

"What about him?" Abby's tone is cautious, but somewhat resigned, like she knew this was coming. 

"There's really nothing between you two?"

"No." She's giving me a look like I've lost my mind. "And shouldn't you be doing your breathing? Hee hee hee." 

"Ah, there's plenty of time for that later. I want to know about you and Dr. Matt." 

"Well, there's nothing to know about me and … _Dr. Matt._ Just breathe."

"Abby …"

"Would you let it go and breathe while you still have the ability?"

"What? Before you strangle me, you mean?" She stills seems awfully touchy about this subject. Okay, time to know for sure. "All right, I tell you what … I'll drop the whole thing." 

"Thank you." 

"On one condition." 

"I should have known that was coming. Fine. Whatever it takes to shut you up."

"Just answer one question."

"About Matt?" 

"Yeah."

She heaves a big sigh, rolls her eyes, finally looks back at me. "Fine. _One._"

"That's all I ask."

"So what do you want to know?" 

I take a deep breath, and plunge right in. "Is he the father?" 

"What?" She looks stunned. Shocked even. She probably didn't think I would ever figure it out. 

"It's a very simple question, Abby," I say, dropping my voice down to a whisper. "Is he the father of your baby?" 

"Matt?" She asks, blinking slowly and deliberately. I nod, watching her bring her hand up to cover her mouth. There seem to be tears gathering in the corner of her eyes, and I see her chest trembling as if she's trying not to cry. Oh geez, I didn't mean to make her cry. What the hell did this guy do to her, anyway, that admitting the truth is so scary? 

I watch as a tear slides down her cheek. She moves her hand from her mouth to wipe away the tear, and that seems to be all it takes for her to let loose with emotions she's been trying to keep inside. But when she opens her mouth, it's not sobs that spill out, but laughter. I don't mean 'tee hee hee, Susan made a funny' laughter, but I mean side-splitting belly laughter. She's laughing so hard she topples over from her kneeling position next to me onto the mound of hijacked pillows. She ends up sprawled on her back, arms wrapped around her belly with the entire class staring at her …us. When she finally gets control of herself, she sighs and looks up at me, giving me a somewhat patronizing grin. 

"What?" I demand, a little mad that she's having so much fun at my expense. "Why is that so funny?" 

"I'm sorry. You're right. It's not," she says, struggling to sit up. Of course, she can barely suppress the giggles in her voice. 

"Why is it such a ludicrous suggestion? I mean, he's kinda cute. It doesn't seem like he's gay … so stop looking at me like I'm completely crazy."

"You are completely crazy. But I guess it's not _that_ crazy of an idea. It's just that … nothing could be farther from the truth. I mean, I don't think you can get pregnant from sharing the same stethoscope." I roll my eyes at her and give her a somewhat disgusted look. I hate being wrong. I hate it. And now she's making fun of me. It's not nice. "But it all makes sense now," Abby continues. 

"What makes sense?" 

"You. The way you were looking at Matt. The way you were looking at me when he was there. The way you were grilling me once he was gone." 

"I wasn't _grilling_ you," I point out. If she thinks that was grilling …

"Whatever. It just all makes perfect sense now." 

"So you're sure he's not the father?" 

She starts laughing at me again. Okay, I guess I deserve it this time. Stupid question. "Yes. I'm sure. I was there, remember? And he wasn't." 

"So then why were things so … awkward between you two?"

"Awkward?"

"Well, actually, he seemed fine. But you …"

"Oh. Yeah. Um…" She sighs, looks around the room, looks down at her hands in her lap. Finally looks back at me. "Well …"

"Well what?" Oh, maybe I'm gonna get some juicy gossip after all. Just because he's not the father … 

She rubs her hand over her face, looks back at me, biting her lip and looking a bit embarrassed. "He kind of …"

"What?" 

"Asked me out." 

"What? When?" 

"The last day of my NICU rotation." 

"And?"

"And what? That's it."

"What?" I ask with disappointment. And a little disbelief that this is what's causing her so much stress. "That's it?!" 

"Well, I'm just kind of embarrassed about the whole thing."

"Why? You turned him down?" 

"Yeah. But it's not just that. I didn't even realize he was … you know … _asking me out_ asking me out. So I just kinda blew him off. I realized later that he was, like, asking me out on an actual date. If I'd have realized, I would have been nicer about the whole thing. I was afraid I hurt his feelings." 

"So _that _ was the whole reason you were acting so funny around him?"

"Yeah." 

"Just that?"

"_Yes_."

"So then what was that whole thing about not wanting anyone, _especially Matt_, to know?"

She rolls her eyes at me, sighing a sigh of the long-suffering. "Because … Matt has a big mouth. He's probably the biggest gossip in Pediatrics, and all he had to do was tell one nurse who remembered me from the NICU and the next thing you know, it would have been all over the hospital." 

"And that's it? You just didn't want him to know because he's a big gossip?" 

"Yep." She looks at me a moment, then gives me a lopsided grin. "I swear he's not the father. And yes, I'm _sure_." She's laughing at me again.

"Dammit. I thought I'd finally figured it out."

"This is really bugging you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because you're my friend. I care about _you_. I just want everything to be all right with you."

"Everything is all right. Really. But I'm sorry that you're so … frustrated." 

"So … does that mean you'll tell me?"

"Hell no." 

"Abby, c'mon …"

"No."

"Please?"

"Nope." 

"Abbbby … do you see what you've done? You've reduced me to whining and begging."

"Well, that's very unbecoming. But I'm still not gonna tell you."

"Oh, why not? I swear I won't tell a soul. It'll be just between the two of us." 

She stops and seems to consider that. She stares at me for a long minute, and finally heaves a big sigh. 

"Okay, Susan. I'm going to tell you something. Something very important."

"Yeah?" Oh, I'm excited now. The question that has been bothering me for weeks … and Abby's finally gonna reveal the truth. I guess maybe she trusts me after all.

"Listen carefully," she says, leaning in close to me. Does she really think that I wouldn't pay attention to this piece of information? 

"I'm all ears." 

"Susan?"

"Yeah?" 

"Shut up and breathe." 

"Okay, I deserved that."

"Yes, you did." 

"Are you ever gonna tell me?" 

"Maybe. Someday. You'll just have to tune in next week. Maybe you'll find out then."

"You really hate me, don't you?"

"Yeah. You figured it out. I'm sitting her on the floor huffing and puffing with you because I really can't stand you. " She pauses a moment, seems to be thinking about something carefully. "I _would_ tell you, you know. If I could."

"I know." Because I do believe that she means that. I just wish she felt like she could tell me. 

"Okay, so let's get back to the heeing." 

So we sit on the floor, practicing my breathing exercises and huffing and puffing together. And I realize Abby's right, it's not just anyone who would go through this with me. It takes a real friend. And even if Abby won't tell me the whole truth, I realize that she is trusting with at least half of this big secret of hers. And _I_ have to trust that she's doing what's right for her at the moment. And I know that when she's ready, she'll tell me the rest. Until then, I'll just do my best to be there for her in any way that I can, just the way that she's here for me now. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks.

I sniffle and swipe at a little tear in the corner of my eye. "Nothing. It's nothing. Just … thanks, you know?" 

She nods, her face serious and solemn. And then a slow smile appears, turning up the corners of her mouth. "Susan?" Time for a big emotional revelation? 

"Yeah?" 

"Shut up and breathe." 


	6. Falling

__

Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea 

Rating: R, just in case my foul mouth take over. 

Summary: Abby's pregnant. But try as she might, Susan can't figure out who the daddy is. 

Author's Note: Big ups to COURTNEY, LISA, and BETH. I know I said I was gonna update the other stories first before I got this chapter up … but that's not the way it worked out after all. But I'm working on the others, as well as chapter 7 of this one, so I should have something else to post quickly. And don't forget how much I love those reviews. If you want to inspire me to write, that's a great way to do it. 

*~*~*~*

Serendipity

Chapter 6: Falling

"Surprise!" Everyone yells as Susan and I enter the lounge. 

She turns and gives me a look of pure hate. "I'm going to kill you," she says through clenched teeth and a great, big, false smile.

"This is not my fault," I say behind an equally fake grin pasted on my face. "I told them. They insisted. I'm just an unwilling accomplice." 

"Hey, baby," Chuck says, coming up to Susan and draping an arm over her shoulders. "Surprise. Isn't it great?" 

"Did you do this?" Susan asks him in a none-too-friendly way.

"Hey, don't look at me." Instead _he_ looks at _me. _Hey, wait a minute now. 

"Don't look at _me_," I say somewhat indignantly when Susan levels a gaze at me again. 

"Okay, who did this?" Susan asks the room at large in a sugary cheerful voice. Completely fake of course. Naturally no one is willing to cop to having done the deed. Murmurs of protest ripple through the room. 

"Susan," Sam says. "It's a baby shower. Not a ritual sacrifice." 

"Well, it's sort of a baby shower," I add.

"What do you mean by that?" Sam asks.

"Well … we _are_ in the doctor's lounge. Hardly the place for a real party."

"Hey, I said we should go to Ike's. And it's not like you came up with anything better. " I give her a wide-eyed stare, trying to denote that I can't believe she just said that. 

"I thought you said you had nothing to do with it." Susan's looking at me again. Why isn't she looking at Sam like that?

"I didn't say that. I said I was an unwilling accomplice." 

"You should have stopped them. You knew I didn't want this."

"I know. But everyone wanted to do it for you. So just smile and be gracious."

"Fine. But I am so going to get you back." 

"Me? Why me?" 

"Because it was all your idea," Sam helpfully suggests. 

"It was not!" 

"It was too." 

"No, it wasn't."

"Whatever," Susan interjects in the argument between Sam and I. "I'll just get you both. I'm sure you both deserve it for something. 

"Oh, we do not," Sam tells her. 

"Yes, you do," Susan argues. 

"Ladies … let's save the arguing for later. C'mon, let's cut the cake." Oooh, cake. Leave it to Chuck to steer us in the right direction. 

Of course we can't get right to the cake. Susan has to stop every six inches to be congratulated, hugged, patted, and variously mauled and molested by everyone. No wonder she warned us six ways to Sunday not to do this. God, I hope her idea of paying me back isn't doing this for me in a few months. I'd have to kill her. I really would. Maybe it would be best if I just move to Canada. And change my name. I wonder if I'd have to learn to speak French? Nah, probably not. Probably only if I go to Quebec. But I better get used to adding 'eh' to the end of every sentence. I wouldn't want them to think I was some sort of American spy … eh?

"Abby!" 

"Huh? What?" 

"I was just saying that the cake is beautiful," Susan says. 

"Oh. Thanks." 

"Did you bake it?" She asks in what must be one of those weird pregnancy-induced moments of idiocy. 

"Yeah, Susan. I baked this two foot long cake in the industrial oven in my crappy little apartment. And, of course, in my spare time, between med school and being a nurse, I've been taking cake decorating classes."

"It's really too bad about how you can't get a handle on that whole sarcasm thing," she says dryly. 

"Yeah, you seem to have that same problem," I shoot back.

"Well, it's beautiful." 

"I _am_ the one who picked it out, though. And picked it up from the bakery. They did a nice job, eh?" Never hurts to get in a little practice. Just in case. 

"Uh … yeah, they did." She gives me a somewhat confused look, but smiles as she looks down at the cake. "It's so cute." She wrinkles her nose up as she giggles. Guess she's forgiven me for my part in this whole subterfuge. I take a look at the cake myself. It did turn out pretty well. Since Susan is going to be surprised about the sex of the baby, I went for a neutral theme. Yellow icing with a darker shade of yellow spelling out the words "Welcome Baby." Various plastic baby-type items like bottles, pacifiers, and diaper pins --who uses diaper pins anymore? --have been placed on the top along with some confetti-like pink and blue sprinkles to really make it festive.

"Speaking of the cake, should we cut it?" Chuck asks, wielding a plastic butter knife. How ceremonial. Still, I think I might just be falling in love with Chuck a little bit. He seems to spend about as much time being obsessed with food as I do these days. 

"Wait, wait. You can't cut the cake, yet. I have to take a picture." Someone made a mistake of putting a camera in Chuny's hand and now she seems intent on recording each hug and handshake for posterity. And now we need a shot of the cake. And then a shot of Susan and Chuck and the cake. Then Susan and I and the cake. I almost suggest a field trip down to the bakery so we can get the baker and the cake, too, but I'm a little afraid that Chuny might take me up on the suggestion. 

We finally get to the ceremonial cutting of the cake which turns out to be a rather messy affair thanks to the five pounds of frosting on the cake and the butter knife Susan is using to cut it. To her credit, she manages to avoid licking her fingers in between cutting each piece. It doesn't take long for everyone to have their plate of icing … um, cake. People are soon busy chowing down while Susan and I stand guard at the cake table. Supposedly we're there to hand out cake to anyone who wants seconds, but mostly we're just helping ourselves. 

"You know, Abby, if you don't want people to get suspicious, you're gonna have to stop matching me piece-for-piece," Susan points out, watching me reach for my third -- or is it fourth? -- piece of cake. So much for trying to keep my sugar intake to a minimum. Oh, well. There are worse things in the world than a little sugar. Still, Susan has a point. So I put down the cake and switch to Chex mix. Actually, this would go pretty well with the cake. Salty, sweet. Soft, crunchy. Maybe I could just cut a little piece. Or just scoop off some icing with a pretzel. 

"There aren't going to be games, are there?" Susan demands suddenly. 

"Um, I don't think so. But I wasn't on the entertainment committee, so I don't really know."

"Because the last thing I want is people tearing off lengths of crepe paper that they think represent the size of my waist, such as it is these days. My God, talk about humiliating."

"That does sound like an ego-buster," I comment as I slip a frosting-drenched mini-breadstick into my mouth. Mmm, that's good. I hope I'm not moaning out loud. 

"Abby."

"What?" 

"Stop eating."

"What? There's plenty of food." 

"I know that. But if you keep shoveling it into your face, people are gonna figure out your not-so-little-anymore secret. I'm supposed to be the pregnant one here, but you've managed to eat more --and more disgusting combinations of-- food than I even thought about. So you might want to cool it before someone else notices and wonders. Unless, of course, you want people to find out." 

"No, I don't want people to find out." 

"Find out what?" Carter asks, appearing at the table, presumably in search of cake. Impeccable timing, as always.

"About my Chicago Idol audition," I say without missing a beat. 

"What?" He definitely sounds befuddled. 

"Who knew you could twirl a baton?" Susan says. 

"While singing easy-listening hits of the 70s no less," I add. 

"Okay," Carter says, picking up his cake, "I guess that's your way of saying that it's none of my business." 

I give him a strained smile and raise my eyebrows at him, indicating that he's correct. He gives me a look as if he's contemplating saying something, but in the end he just walks away, shaking his head slightly. 

"How much do you think he heard?" I ask Susan as soon as he's gone. 

"Not enough. Besides, this is Carter … I could probably spell it out for him in big red letters, and he'd still ask me what I was trying to say."

"Don't you dare spell it out for him in big red letters. Or anyone, for that matter." 

"I know. I know. I get it, Abby. Don't tell anyone. I won't."

"Well, then maybe you could stop bringing it up in public." 

"Maybe you could stop eating like you're trying to bulk up so you can get into the next weight class in public." 

"Shut up." 

"Fine. I won't warn you the next time you're giving away your little secret." 

"Fine," I say, only a little bit snootily. 

"Fine," she says.

"Sus … babe," Chuck calls from across the room, "Look at this." He's standing in front of the table where everyone has stacked their gifts. "You gotta see this!" 

Susan makes her way over to Chuck, and since I'm trying to heed her advice and stay away from the food, I follow. 

"Man, we hit the mother load," Chucks says as he surveys the pile.

"No pun intended?" Susan asks. 

"What do you think is in all these?" He asks, as he picks up a package covered in pastel-colored baby-sized footprints and starts shaking it. 

"Baby stuff," Susan says. 

"All of them?" 

"It's a _baby_ shower, Chuck. They're not gonna give us power tools." 

"Why not? What kid doesn't love to play with power tools?" 

"Ah!" Susan sighs in exasperation. "Why don't you go get some punch?" 

"I don't want any punch," Chuck replies. 

"Are you sure about that? I wouldn't mind giving you a punch." 

"Like a punch in the head?" He asks. 

"Maybe the stomach," Susan clarifies. 

"Why don't I go get us some punch?" 

"What a good idea," Susan says with just a little bit of sarcasm as Chuck goes over to the punchbowl. 

"You have him trained well," I observe. 

"Not really. But I'm working on it." 

"He's gonna be a fun dad," I say, glancing over at Chuck as he's rather exuberantly talking to Carter at the food table. I can't tell what Chuck is trying to explain, but even from here, it looks funny. It's amusing to watch even at this distance. 

"Yeah, probably." Susan sounds like she's in agreement, but perhaps not too sure how she feels about Chuck's … uh … penchant for fun.

"What?" 

"I don't know. I just worry sometimes. You know, that I'm not gonna have one kid, but that I'm gonna have two." 

"Yeah. But at least he seems excited about the baby." 

"Oh, he is. He keeps bringing home little baseball caps and telling me all about how he can't wait to teach him how to throw a curveball."

"Him? Does Chuck know something I don't?" 

"No. He doesn't _know. _He just thinks he knows." 

"He thinks it's a boy?" 

"More like hopes it's a boy."

"And what about you?" 

"I don't care either way. I just hope that if it's a girl, he'll be okay with it." 

"Of course he will be. He'll just have to teach _her_ to throw a curveball."

"Teach who to throw a curveball?" Chuck asks me as he hands me a cup of ferociously red punch. 

"Thanks. What's in this?" I ask idly, inspecting my beverage. 

"Your daughter," Susan says to Chuck, ignoring my neurotic ramblings about the possible impurity of the punch. 

"Daughter? I think you mean my son. Little Chuck."

"Little Chuck? Why? So you can be big Chuck?"

"How about we call him Charlie?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay, then. Back to Chuck, Jr." 

"You can just forget that junior stuff. I already told you, this baby is a Lewis." 

"We'll see about that," Chuck challenges. 

"You know," I interrupt before this has a chance to get ugly, "Girls can play baseball. And I should know." 

"Abby's very proud of her Little League All-Star status."

"All-Star? I'm impressed," Chuck tells me. "Maybe our kids will be on a team together. I can coach, and you can be my assistant." 

"Hey, wait a minute," I start.

"_Chuck_," Susan interrupts in a warning tone of voice and then drops down to a whisper, "Didn't I tell you not to mention Abby's you-know-what when we're out in public?"

"Not that," I say. "What's this crap about you being the coach and me being your assistant. _I'll _be the coach, you can be _my _assistant."

"What?" His tone implies that maybe I've gone nuts.

"Well … were _you_ a Little League All-Star?" I ask.

"No, but …" he trails off, looking back and forth between Susan and I, realizing, I suppose, that he's treading on thin ice. 

"But?" I prod.

"Well, I'm a man." Susan and I exchange a look. 

"There it is," she says. 

"I know you didn't," I say to him. I can feel a full-on debate about to start, but luckily for an outnumbered Chuck, he's saved by the bell. Or rather, by Sam who's yelling across the room at Susan. 

"Hey! Are you ever gonna open these gifts or what? C'mon, let's go … we don't have all day. Sure, there's barely any patients now since I told the paramedics we were closed to trauma, but how long is it gonna be until they get wise to that one?" 

Susan looks over at me. "Did she really close us to trauma?" 

I shrug. "I don't know. It is oddly quiet out there." 

"If Weaver finds out, she'll have her head."

"Sam doesn't seem to worry about that much. I think she could hold her own with Weaver." 

"I guess I better get over there and start opening the gifts, huh?" 

"If Sam says so? Yeah."

Susan and Chuck make their way over to the seats Sam has assigned to them. A couple of chairs conveniently located next to the gift table. The rest of us find seats or are forced to stand around in a semi-circle so we can watch the gifts being unwrapped and then pass them around for closer inspection. It's just my luck that all the seats have been snagged, and I'm forced to stand among a crowd of people who seem to be exuding way too much body heat. The first half of the gift unveiling is okay, but somewhere along the line the standing, the warmth, the toxic punch, all get to be too much. I don't exactly feel faint, but maybe a little bit woozy. I put my hand on the back of the chair in front of me, and drop my chin to my chest, closing my eyes and trying to get in a few deep breaths. 

"Abby? You okay?" Sam, who is standing right next to me, asks. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," I manage with a small nod. 

"No, you're not." 

"I'm okay." 

"Hey, Jerry. Get up," Sam demands.

"What? Why?"

"Abby needs your seat." 

"Why does Abby need my seat?" Jerry's looking at Sam like she's suddenly sprouted wings.

"Because she does. Now get up."

"No, it's my seat. I was here first." 

"Come on," Luka says. "Be a gentleman. Give the lady your seat." 

"You know, thanks, but I can handle this on my own," Sam chides Luka. 

They continue to argue back and forth, which frankly, is doing little to help the situation. 

"Watch out. Watch out. Coming through." I turn to see Carter walking across the room with a chair in his hands. He hoists it up over his head and pushes through to the front of the group, putting the chair down right in front of Jerry. "There you go, Abby. Sit down." 

My first thought is to refuse, just on principal. But I really need to sit down. And it was nice of him to get me a chair from somewhere. Don't be stupid, Abby, I tell myself. Sit down. It's just a chair. 

"Thanks," I say moving around Jerry and sitting down. 

"You okay?" Carter asks quietly. 

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine." 

He looks like he wants to say something more to me, but in the end, a big 'aww' over the latest gift Susan has opened gives me an opportunity to turn away from him, and he seems to take the hint, moving to stand behind my chair.

The rest of the gift opening is a bit easier for me since I'm seated. I'm still not feeling great, but I don't think I'll be keeling over anytime soon either. I am slightly worried that I might burst into tears, though. Every time some tiny, adorable little outfit or colorful baby toy gets passed to me, I find myself growing a bit misty … although I'm not sure why exactly. I think it's one part happy… and one part melancholy. I didn't expect this to be a bittersweet experience for me, but somehow it's turned out that way. Maybe it's watching Chuck and Susan opening the gifts together, arguing as they plan their child's future. A future they will both be there to share. It reminds me suddenly of what I'm missing out on. It reminds me of what this baby will never have. 

"Abby, here. Last one." Sam's poking me, handing the last of the gifts. I look up and see that Chuck's gathering up the wrapping paper, and Susan is starting to work her way around the room, thanking everyone. I look down at the gift that was dropped in my hands. A set of baby feeding necessities, complete with bibs. And the white bib on top just happens to have the words "I Love My Daddy" spelled out in jaunty, cheerful yellow letters.

"Cute, huh?" Sam asks. 

"Yeah," I say vaguely. Behind me I hear Luka murmuring something to Sam about how cute _she _is, and I glance back in time to see them share a little kiss, not especially shy now that their romance has gone public. It's sweet. And I'm happy for them. For both of them. Luka deserves some happiness in his life, and Sam is great. I think they're really good for each other. But with the mood I'm in, seeing even the most minor public display of affection just makes the lump in my throat get bigger. What's wrong with you, Abby? You're lucky enough to be having a baby. What else really matters?

I pass on the basket of mealtime goodies to the next set of hands, Chuny's I believe. "Oh Carter, look at that," I hear Chuny say. "'I Love My Daddy.' Just what you need. Pretty soon you'll shoveling in applesauce and getting carrots spit all over you. I bet you can't wait," her voice makes her happiness and excitement for him obvious. 

"Yeah, I can't wait" he echoes. There's a softness … something wistful in his voice. A longing for fatherhood? Missing his girlfriend and unborn child? 

"You're gonna be a great dad," Chuny tells him. The exact same thing that I told him not too long ago. The exact words. 

"Thanks. I hope so." 

And that's about all I can take. Suddenly I feel as if the flood gate has broken. I can barely hold back the sobs that want desperately to break loose. I stand up abruptly and push my way through the crowd, choking out mumbled 'excuse me's as I make my way to the door. I push through the door and blaze a trail to the ambulance bay as if my ass were on fire and the only puddle was on the other side of the sliding doors. The few people manning the admit desk give me curious looks, but I ignore them, intent on my destination. 

It's only once I get outside that I let the tears start to flow. Sitting on a bench, my back to the doors of the ER, I do everything I can think of to stop the tears, but nothing works. So I sit in the warm, dark night sobbing like a child. The thought that I'm going to have to go back inside to get my stuff only makes me cry harder. All I want is to go home. Get away from this place. Escape to my nice, warm bed and sleep. It's the one method of escape still left to me. I frantically search my pockets, and realize that I happen to have my El pass in my pocket. Okay, a way home. I can get one of the neighbors to let me in the building and then retrieve the spare key to my apartment that's hidden in a loose baseboard in the hallway. Well, at least that's one thing to be grateful for. I can avoid facing my colleagues … at least until tomorrow. After a good night's sleep maybe I can handle it. I heave myself off the bench as the sobs dissipate somewhat. There are still tears running down my cheeks, but I think I can manage to make my way to the El. 

I'm just standing up, about to leave, when I hear the door open up behind me and footsteps quickly approaching. Susan, I think, coming to check on me after my abrupt departure. No, she wouldn't leave her own baby shower. Sam. Luka. Maybe Sam and Luka.

"Abby?" Wrong. So very wrong. Not Sam and Luka. Certainly not Susan. Oh God, I can't deal with this right now. I can't deal with him right now. 

"Leave me alone, Carter." 

"What's wrong, Abby?" 

I take a breath, swallow the tears, try to make my voice sound normal. "Nothing. I'm fine. I just needed some air. Go back to the party."

"I can't do that."

"Of course you can. Just go, Carter."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong." 

"Nothing's wrong."

"Then why are you crying?" He's standing right behind me now. He's so close that I can feel his breath in my hair. Way to respect my personal space. 

"I'm not." I try for cheerful, tinged with amusement at his silly suggestion, but I know it doesn't work. My voice sounds shaky, even to my own ears.

"Yes, you are." He puts his hand on my arm and moves around to stand in front of me. "Tell me what it is, Abby. You can talk to me." 

"I don't _want_ to talk to you."

"You need to talk to somebody if something has you this upset." 

"Well, not you." 

"Look, if it's Sam and Luka you are upset about … maybe you should talk to one of them." 

"Sam and Luka?" I ask, completely confused. "Why would I be upset about Sam and Luka?" 

"Well, you know … I mean, I don't know what went on with you two, but …" 

"What went on with who?"

"You and Luka. Look, Abby, I guess you know what's going on with Luka and Sam now … but I'm not sure you know everything that's gone on with Luka. And I really think you'd be wise to think long and hard about getting involved with him again."

"What?" I demand with something that is a cross between being indignant and confused. I don't know what the hell he thinks he's talking about, but whatever it is, it's none of his business.

"I just … well, I don't want to see you … Just don't let him hurt you again."

"Let _Luka_ hurt me?" 

"Yeah."

"Well, that's almost funny coming from you." The tone of my voice is little more sharp, a little more shrill. But at least I stopped crying. "And just so you know … my life is none of your business. I can do whatever I want with whomever I want, and you have no right to say a word about it. You wanted me out of your life, so stay the hell out of mine!" I yell. 

He looks amazed. And confused. Like this is all news to him. "But … I thought we were okay." I just roll my eyes at him. "So … I guess not. But this isn't about us, right? This is about you and Luka." 

"Me and Luka?" This is truly absurd. I wouldn't bother telling him anything, but God only knows what crazy ideas he'll get if I don't set him straight. "Nothing is going on between Luka and I. Nothing has gone on between Luka and I. Not for the last three years. We're _friends_. That's it." I'm not yelling anymore, but there's still a definite edge to my voice. 

Now he looks confused. "But what about … well, I mean, all the …"

Oh. Now I get it. Well, I get where he got this crazy idea, anyway. "Rumors?" I ask. "Yeah, those were just that. Rumors." I throw my hands up in the air for emphasis.

"So you're not …" he trails off, giving me a funny look. He almost seems to be … checking me out. I watch as his eyes track downward, studying me from head to toe. Maybe I'm paranoid, but he seems to be staring at my mid-section. It makes me wish that it wasn't too warm for a jacket this time of year. Or that I had my lab coat on. Somehow I feel like he can see right through the baggy shirt that I'm wearing. 

I cross my arms in front of myself. "I gotta go. I need to get home." I move as if to start walking toward the El, but he blocks my path. 

"Look, Abby. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. I should know better than to ever listen to the rumors. And … I … I'm just sorry." 

"Yeah, well … you should be."

"Is that … am _I_ what's bothering you?"

"No. Not at all." For once my voice doesn't betray me, but comes out strong and solid.

"But there is something bothering you, right?" 

"No. Everything's just peachy." I can't help it. Sometimes the sarcasm just slips out. 

He looks at me for a long moment before asking, "Is there anything I can do?" With a somewhat helpless look on his face, he asks, "You need a ride home?" 

"Not from you," I tell him, trying to move around him. He takes hold of my arms, forcing me to stand right in front of him. I refuse to look at him, preferring to stare at my shoes. 

"Isn't there anything I can do?"

"You wanna know what you can do for me, John?" I ask, looking up at him. He nods earnestly. "Okay. You can stay out of my life."

"Abby. You don't really mean that."

"Sure I do. It's pretty much the only thing you can do for me now. It's the only thing I really want from you."

"But … I thought we were … I mean, I hoped we were … friends." 

"No, John. We're not friends. We're not anything. So just leave me alone, okay? No chatty small talk. No pretending like we can talk the way we used to."

"You don't even want to be my friend?" 

"I _can't_ be your friend, Carter." 

"But you and Luka are friends. Right?" 

"Yeah, well, that's different." 

"How?" 

I just stare at him, wondering if he really just said that. I chuckle, but it's a mirthless sound. "If you don't know then you don't need to know." I wrench myself out of his grip and push past him, heading for the stairs that lead up to EL platform.

"Abby … wait!" He calls out behind me. I know he's following me so I speed up my pace a little bit. 

"Abby! Can't we talk about this?" Oh, this is an interesting turn of events. _Carter_ chasing _me_ toward the El, asking me to stay and talk. _Now_ he wants to talk? Typical. 

"Leave me alone," I yell back at him, as I start to run. 

"Abby …" 

He catches up to me just as I make it to the bottom of stairs. 

"Please don't leave. Abby …" There's something about his voice … he sounds so close to breaking.

I pause momentarily on the steps.

"Abby?" His hand on my arm, encouraging me to turn back toward him. 

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather enough strength to shake him off and walk away. Instead, I find myself turning toward him. And then, suddenly, something happens. My feet suddenly slip out from under me. For one moment I seem to hover in the air, looking up at the star-scattered night sky. 

And then I'm falling.


	7. Finding Out

__

Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea _(CarbyLove@aol.com__)_

Summary: Abby's pregnant. And she just took a tumble on the steps of the El while arguing with Carter. Hmmm … what's gonna happen next? 

Author's Note: Thanks to LISA, BETH and COURTNEY. You guys rock my world. Thanks for all the reviews, everyone. They really do provide inspiration. I've been in a bit of a funk lately, which unfortunately is causing some writer's block, but the reviews really do make me happy. So thanks for that. And don't worry about them being too long or rambling … that's pretty much impossible. I *like* long and rambling. Which is probably why I listen to the SPA commentary on a daily basis, I suppose. Ah, good times. Anyway, please review and feel free to ramble as much as you like … as long as it's related to the fic in some way. And hopefully there will be eough long reviews to help get me past this latest round of writer's block. Wish me luck. And enjoy the chapter. 

*~*~*~*

Serendipity

*~*~* 

Chapter 7: Finding Out

"Abby? Abby?" She doesn't respond. She looks like she's sleeping. Sprawled across the El steps. But she's not sleeping. She's unconscious. 

I stoop down next to her, quickly appraising the situation. She was standing on the stairs, just turning back toward me when she suddenly fell over. Even standing so close to her with my hand on her arm, I couldn't stop her fall. And the sound of her head smacking against the concrete steps was enough to make me sick. I gingerly examine the back of her head and find no blood, just a big bump already forming. 

"It's okay, Abby," I say, as if she can hear me. I slip one arm under her knees and one under her neck and shoulders and lift with my legs. Umph. It's been a while since I've done this. And somehow Abby seems heavier than I remembered. Or maybe I'm just weaker. I stumble across the street toward the hospital and manage to make it through the ambulance bay doors without dropping her or falling over.

"Oh my God!" Susan exclaims as soon as I walk through the door. "What happened?" 

The last thing I want to do is explain that now. As if I had enough air in my lungs to speak. Susan seems to understand that. 

"C'mon. Trauma One." 

I'm just about in the door when Sam appears. "Abby? Is she okay? What happened?" 

She follows Susan and I into the trauma room where I gently lay Abby down on the gurney. 

"What happened?" Susan demands, as we both immediately start examining Abby, lifting her eyelids and peering at her pupils. Equal, round, and reactive. A good sign. 

"She … fell." I gasp out. "Hit … her … head." 

"Fell?" Sam asks, sounding skeptical. 

"Yeah. She fell on the stairs." 

"What?" Susan sounds horrified and a bit panicky. "She fell down the stairs?" 

"Oh my God," Sam says. "I'll get the sonosite." 

"No. She fell _on_ the stairs," I clarify. "Do you think we should get her to CT?" 

"I don't think that's a good idea." 

"But I'm worried about an inter-cranial bleed."

"She bumped her head, Carter. She's got a mild concussion and a nasty bump. But it's not her head I'm worried about." 

Sam returns to the room with the sonosite, and I watch in confusion as Susan pushes up Abby's shirt and squirts jelly on her belly. What the hell is she doing? Shouldn't she be worried about the head injury?

"What are you doing? She hit her head. I don't think she has any bleeding in the belly." 

"It's not bleeding in the belly that I'm looking for."

"Then what are you looking for?"

"The baby," Sam says, giving me a look that suggests I should have figured that out. 

"Baby? What baby?" I ask automatically, but my voice falters as suddenly a few things become clear, and I think I know exactly what she's talking about. The thought crossed my mind standing outside with Abby, but I didn't really believe it. And then in my concern about Abby's injury, I forgot all about it. But now I understand what Susan is so worried about.

"There." Sam says, looking at the monitor. Susan holds the transducer in place while they study the screen. When Sam moves slightly, I get a look at the screen too. 

"Oh my God," I say. "It's a baby."

"Wow. Now I see how you became a doctor. You really are a genius, aren't you?" Sam asks. But I pay no attention to that, having learned from Abby the value in ignoring facetious comments. 

"Yeah," Susan nods. 

"She's pregnant? Abby's pregnant?" Well, of course she is. But even seeing the evidence in front of me, I still can't quite grasp the concept. 

"Uh-huh," Susan says, studying me carefully for a moment.

Abby pregnant? My mind begins to whirl. It's funny how a bunch of separate pieces of information can come together and start to make sense -- sort of. Suddenly a conversation that I had with Luka the other day comes to mind, but I see it in a whole different light. Just a few days ago, Luka joined me for lunch at Ike's. About halfway through the meal, he told me that he wanted my opinion about something. And then he said his "friend" had a problem. I grinned at him, amused at his use of the oldest trick in the book. Somehow, the conversation comes back to me in great detail now. 

__

"So your 'friend' has a problem?" 

"Yeah, she does." 

"She? Oh, that's good. I like that." 

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind. So what's her problem?" 

"Well … she's pregnant." 

"Oh. And … she doesn't want to be?" 

"No, it's not that."

"Then …" 

"It's the father." 

"He doesn't want her to be pregnant?"

"She hasn't told him she's pregnant." 

"Oh. Why not?"

"She thinks it's better if he doesn't know." 

"About his own child?" 

"Well … he's her ex-boyfriend. And now there's a new woman in his life. And a child. She doesn't want to mess that up."

"Is Gillian pregnant?" 

"Gillian? No. Gillian's not pregnant. This isn't about me. It's about my friend."

"Right. You're friend. Sorry. So she thinks she's doing the ex-boyfriend a favor?"

"Yeah, she thinks it would be better if he didn't know. And she doesn't want to be a burden. She doesn't want him to feel obligated." 

"But he is obligated. It's his child. No matter what else is going on in his life, that's his child." 

"She seems to think that since she made the decision on her own, she should be responsible on her own." 

"That's crazy. It's still his baby. I can't imagine anything that would make me not want to know about a child of mine." 

"So you think she should tell him? Even if it makes things really complicated for him?"

"Yeah. She ought to at least give him a chance. And if his new girlfriend really loves him, they'll find a way to make it work." 

"Well, I'm not sure exactly what's going on with the new girlfriend. It seems to me things aren't exactly … over between him and the old girlfriend. So I'm not sure that he's gonna know what to do. And I think that's what she's afraid of, too."

"I guess he just has to follow his heart. Even if there's another child out there depending on him, too. He has to do what's right for him. What makes him happy. And take care of the kids that need him, no matter what, whichever woman he ends up with. But there's lots of ways to take care of your responsibilities."

"Yeah. I guess you're right." 

We'd gone back to eating our lunch then, and I hadn't pressed Luka for details. At the time, I was pretty sure that we were talking about a problem in Luka's life, and he was trying to seek my advice anonymously. I was a bit confused as to how he knew about this secret pregnancy, if his "friend" never told him, but I assumed he just managed to figure it out some other way. Of course, when he insisted that Gillian wasn't pregnant … I wasn't sure what to think. Maybe he really was talking about some friend of his, although I had my doubts. And if he was talking about himself, of course he would deny that Gillian was pregnant. And the facts seemed to fit so nicely … I knew she'd come back to town a few months earlier, spent a few days. Then next thing you know, it became obvious that he and Sam had something going. Then again, maybe it wasn't Gillian; maybe there was someone else in his life. How would I know? I figured if Luka wanted me to know more, he would tell me. So I didn't think anything more about it, really. 

And then I saw Abby's reaction to Sam and Luka at the baby shower, and remembered the rumors that had been floating around about Luka and Abby. Even having heard all those rumors, I never really considered that Abby could be the pregnant "friend" that Luka was telling me about. Not until a few minutes ago, anyway. Outside with Abby, when she threw her arms up in the air in order to make a point, I'd caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a rather round and full belly under her baggy shirt. Nothing like the flat belly she used to have. I realized then that maybe Luka _was _talking about himself … only the ex-girlfriend in question wasn't Gillian, but Abby. But then Abby denied any involvement with him. And I believed her. So I figured I was just seeing things. Imagining things. Or maybe she'd just put on a few pounds. I totally dismissed the idea. That is, until Sam mentioned the baby and then that image came up on the monitor. I'm not imagining _that_. But if it wasn't Luka, then … 

As if on cue, Luka walks in the room at that moment. 

"I heard something's wrong with Abby." He doesn't seem unduly concerned. Concerned? Yes. But it seems more like friendly concern rather than fatherly concern.

"She fell. And hit her head," I explain, sounding somewhat dazed, even to my own ears. 

"She fell?"

"She's gonna be okay," I say. 

Luka looks at Susan running the transducer over Abby's abdomen and glances at the screen behind her. He looks over at me briefly before asking, "And the baby?"

Susan looks up at him, then turns to look at me. 

"Does everything look okay?" I ask. From my vantage point, I can't really tell what she's seeing. Sam pushes the monitor closer to the gurney and turns it so that I can see it better. From this angle it's much easier to see the details. 

And there it is. A baby with a strong heartbeat. All seems to be well. A perfect little baby that appears to be completely unaffected by its mother's fall. It moves each of its beautiful, long limbs in turn as if it knows we are watching. Its lips pucker up and then relax as if its blowing us a kiss. I stare transfixed at the image as if I'd never seen a sonogram before, let alone hundreds. But this is different. I can't stop watching the screen. The little fingers of one hand splay apart, just to be clenched together again. I feel an almost overwhelming urge to wave back. Without ever really looking away from the monitor, I pull a stool over next to the gurney and sit down, taking Abby's hand in mine. I study the image of the baby -- Abby's baby. There's a little person growing inside her. About 18 weeks old, four months. Four months … the implications of that don't sink in right away. For the moment, I just know that the baby seems fine. And I'm happy … for Abby. Abby … who is 18 weeks pregnant. Four months. That's all I can think as I'm watching the baby on the screen and start to realize what this means. Abby's gonna be a mother. At 18 weeks along, and considering Susan's dismay earlier, I can only imagine that Abby's decided to keep this baby. A baby that was conceived four months ago …

"Mmm…" Abby starts stirring on the gurney, moving slightly and moaning. I squeeze her hand in mine to let her know she's okay and not alone. 

"Abby?" Susan asks, peering down at the patient. Susan looks over at me. "Here, hold this." She shoves the transducer toward my free hand, and I take it, holding it steady, knowing that Abby's gonna want to see this right away. 

"Mmm …" Abby's moaning and mumbling incoherently. "Mmm … baby. Oww … ahh … mmm ... the baby." I could distinctly make out that word. Even in a barely conscious state, it seems to be on her mind. Yeah, she must be keeping this child. Abby's gonna have a baby. I'm still stunned. 

"Abby?" Susan asks again. Abby's eyes open slowly and attempt to focus on Susan. "Do you know where you are?" 

"Trauma One," she says, looking around the room, her gaze still somewhat unfocused.

"Do you remember what happened?" Susan asks her.

"I … fell." Suddenly her eyes open all the way … wide and fearful. Tears seem to spring into her eyes, and when she speaks, I realize I've never heard her sound so … terrified before. "The baby? Is the baby okay?" She's crying and panicky, her eyes wildly roaming around the room as if desperately looking for something to hold on to.

"Abby?" She turns and looks at me. I've never seen her look so vulnerable before. I smile reassuringly, trying to keep my own emotions from showing so as not to worry her. Her eyes are searching my face frantically. "The baby's fine."

"It's okay?" she asks, her voice heavy with tears, sounding like she's scared to believe me. 

"Yeah. It's fine. It looks great, in fact. Beautiful. Just beautiful." I'm surprised to discover that I'm tearing up myself. "Look." I point in the direction of the screen, and Abby's gaze follows.

"Oh. My baby. That's my baby." A tear slides down her cheek. "And it's perfect." She starts crying in earnest then. Sobbing really. At least we know she's fully oriented now. And I know her tears are tears of joy and relief. Her happiness makes me happy. I think I may be grinning like an idiot. 

"Uh …" Susan starts, clearing her throat. "Maybe we should go and check on that trauma that's coming in."

"What trauma?" Luka asks.

"There's no trauma coming in," Sam says with disdain.

"There's going to be if you two don't come with me …_ now_." I look up at Susan, who gives me a smile and a nod. "I think you'll be okay on your own."

"Yeah, I got it."

Abby doesn't seem to notice their departures, nor does she seem to really notice my presence. She's staring at the screen, watching as the baby moves gracefully in its fluid world. There are still tears on her cheeks, but she's smiling. She sniffles and wipes at the tears with heal of her hand. Then she reaches out toward the monitor, tracing her fingers along the outline of the baby's head. She lets her hand drop away from the monitor and onto her stomach.

"I'm sorry," she says, quietly, the tears springing to her eyes once again. Sorry? Is she talking to me? I wonder what exactly she's apologizing for. And then she speaks again, her voice just above a whisper. "But you're okay. You're gonna be okay." Oh, she's talking to the baby, I realize belatedly. 

"Abby?" 

She reluctantly pulls her eyes away from the monitor and turns to look at me. But just briefly before she turns back to the image on the screen. 

"How's your head?" Not the question I really want to ask her, but I figure I should start slowly. 

She looks at me with what is almost a look of confusion. She narrows her eyes and seems to be assessing her injuries. "It hurts," she finally says, simply. But the tone of her voice and the look on her face suggest that she's not worried about it. "It doesn't really matter. I'm fine."

"As long as the baby's okay, you're okay?" 

"Yeah." She smiles slightly and then looks over at me. "The baby looks good, huh?"

"The baby looks great. Aside from your head, are you in any pain?"

"My butt's a little sore." 

"I'll bet. But no cramping or anything?" 

"No. I feel fine … pregnancy-wise." 

"Good." 

"I got lucky."

"It wasn't that bad of a fall."

"Tell that to my head." She manages a bit of a chuckle. "Thank God I was only on the first step."

"Second. But who's counting?" Her hand is still resting in mine, and I give it a little squeeze. The fact that she has yet to rip it away from me says a lot about how scared and in need of comfort she must be right now. "Everything turned out fine in the end. No harm done."

"I guess so." She doesn't really sound convinced. 

"You're gonna be fine, Abby. The baby's fine." I stop and study her for a minute. "You're gonna have a baby." 

"Yeah," she confirms, looking at me once again. Our eyes meet, and I hold her gaze. 

"In about … five months?" 

Her eyes slide from mine. "Yeah." Her voice is quiet and cautious.

"Abby." I wait for her to look back at me. When she finally does, it's a direct stare. She's holding my eyes pinned to hers. And I know she knows what's coming. 

"Is it …" Suddenly I can't finish the question. More than anything, I want to know. But at the same time, I don't want to know. I can't make myself choke out the words. 

Abby's gaze slips from mine once again. She turns her head back toward the monitor. But then, after a moment, she looks back at me, heaving a big sigh. 

"Yours?" she asks, finishing that question for me. I nod. Because it's all I can do. So much rests on her answer. My whole life. My whole future. Everything can change in an instant. At first I don't think she's gonna answer me, but finally she does. 

"Three years, John. Three years … and there hasn't been anyone but you. Yeah, of course it's yours." 

I'm speechless. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I just can't believe it. Mine. My baby. Up on that screen. That perfectly formed body, the graceful limbs. I had a part in making that miracle. Abby's having my baby. Our baby. I'm stunned. I knew, of course, when I saw how far along she was that there was a chance. And knowing Abby the way I do, I figured it was a pretty good chance. Still … it was just one night. There was only one opportunity. And somehow it all just seems so unbelievable. How could I have not known or at least suspected? And why didn't she tell me? And then that conversation with Luka comes back to me again. She didn't tell me because she didn't want me to feel trapped. She was doing it for me. Oh, Abby … 

"I don't know what to say," I finally tell her. 

"You don't have to say anything. You don't have to _do_ anything. I don't expect that." Her voice is emotionless, stoic. I know she means it, but I don't think she's necessarily happy about it.

"But it's my baby."

"No. It's _my _baby. I can take care of it on my own. I'm going to do it on my own. You don't need to be involved." She sounds a little more firm and sure of herself now. 

"What if I want to be involved?" 

"You don't." I start to say something, but she interrupts before I can even get out a word. "Look, right now you might _think_ you want to be involved. But … time will go on, and things will change. And you'll realize what it's going to cost you. And then you won't want anything to do with us. And I … I can live with doing this my own. I can't live with getting used to you being a part of it, just to have you disappear." Her voice falters toward the end of her speech, and I realize how big of a toll this must be taking on her.

"I'm not gonna disappear, Abby." I hope she can hear the sincerity in my voice. I mean it. I mean it with all my heart. 

"You've done it before. Why should this be any different?" 

"It's our baby." I understand why she's worried. And she has a very valid point. But this is my child. "I know you've got every reason not to believe me … but I'm not gonna disappear. Not this time." 

"You better think long and hard before you make promises like that."

"I don't need to think about it." 

"Yes, you do. Because there's no doing it halfway. And there's no going back. And I won't let you do anything to hurt this baby." 

"Is that why you didn't tell me?" She shrugs, which I take as confirmation. "You didn't think you could hide it forever, did you? Did you think I wouldn't suspect it might be mine? What did you think would happen when I figured out you were pregnant? Or when the baby was born and all I had to do was subtract nine months?" 

She looks at me with a somewhat bemused smile and gives a half shrug. "I don't know. Hope your math skills failed you?" 

I can't help but chuckle. "Nobody's that bad at math." 

"You'd be surprised," she says, her eyes being pulled back to the monitor. 

"I can't stop staring at it," I tell her. "The minute that I saw the baby on the screen … I don't know, I was just so … drawn to it. I should have known right then … because I've never felt anything like that before. Now I know why. But I never would have expected it."

"Expected … what?"

"To feel that way. It was like there was this instant … connection. It's amazing."

She looks over at me then. "Are you crying?" she asks, sounding shocked. 

I shrug. "It's our baby." I say by way of explanation. I'm a little surprised when she doesn't protest my terminology. "If you can't cry over that …" I say with sniffle. 

"You're not at all upset about this?" 

"No." I clear my throat, trying to get back in control. "I think I'm still in shock, but I'm not upset. Why? Were you expecting me to have some sort of tantrum?" 

"I don't know. I didn't think you'd be so accepting of it. I thought you'd be … freaked out."

"I'm not gonna freak out. Why would I?" It's a miracle. Abby's having my baby. It's more than I could have ever hoped for. 

"You … well, you've already got a lot on your plate. You don't need this." 

"But I want it. I don't care what else is going on in my life. I want this." She gives me another one of those searching looks, staring into my eyes, trying to see into my soul. "Give me your hand." 

"You already have my hand." She glances down at our still-clenched-together hands.

"Your _other_ hand. Put it on the transducer," I instruct. She looks at me for a long moment, but then wraps her hand around mine. I move our hands so that we are getting the best look at the side view of the baby's head. "Look. Look at that face. That profile."

"You don't have to convince me how beautiful this baby is."

"I was watching before when Susan was checking the baby. It really is perfect. I think I have every inch of it memorized. I saw every little part." 

"Every little part?"

"Yeah." 

"Is it a boy or a girl?" She asks, one part curiosity, one part amusement.

"I don't know. I didn't look." 

"So not _every_ little part." 

"We can look now. If you want to know." 

"Do … you wanna know?" she asks cautiously, as if she's not sure she really wants to ask. 

"It's up to you. It's your decision." 

"Maybe … maybe I cut you out of enough decisions already. So this time …" she trails off. But it means a lot to me that she's willing to consider letting me have any say in anything. Vaguely, I wonder if it's some kind of test. It makes me ponder my answer.

"It might be nice to be surprised," I finally say. 

She nods. "Okay. We'll wait." We? Did she just say we? 

"But if you want to know …"

"No. A surprise it is." 

"If you're sure."

"I am," she says, giving me a small, tentative smile. I smile back.

There's a tap on the door, and then it opens up and Susan sticks her head in. 

"Everything okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. She regards me carefully for a moment, taking in the whole situation. She looks from me to Abby. 

"Abby?" she asks.

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Everything's fine." 

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Abby says as she stares at the monitor.

"Fine?" Susan asks. "You just fell on your head, but you feel fine?"

Abby finally tears herself away from the image of the baby and looks at Susan. "Well, my head kinda hurts." 

"Yeah, I'll bet. I hate to do it, but I'm gonna have to steal this," Susan says, gesturing to the sonosite. "I need it down in Curtain 3."

"Okay," Abby says grudgingly, watching as Susan turns off the monitor and the screen goes blank. We reluctantly hand over the transducer, both of us sad to see the image of the baby disappear. Susan hands Abby a bunch of paper towels to wipe the slime off her belly. 

"Sorry," Susan says, referring to taking away our window to the baby. 

"That's okay. Can I sit up?" Abby asks as she slips her hand out of mine and readjusts her shirt, covering up the little bulge. 

"Sure," I say, as Susan and I move the gurney into a more upright position.

"How's that?" Susan asks. 

"Better." Abby lifts a hand to the back of her head, feeling the bump gingerly.

"How do you feel?" I ask. "Any dizziness? Is the pain worse?" 

"No, it's okay. I'm just a little dizzy, maybe."

"Hmm … I'll come back when I'm done and give you a more thorough work up," Susan offers.

"You don't have to. I'm fine."

"I know you seem fine, Abby … but I just want to make sure everything's _really _okay."

"I can do it," I say. It's not like I was planning on leaving or anything. 

Susan looks over at Abby, giving her a little shrug, apparently asking her what she prefers. 

"It's okay. Carter can do it."

"If you're sure," Susan says hesitantly. What? Does she think I'm incompetent? Or that Abby would be that uncomfortable? She hasn't kicked me out of the room yet.

"I'm sure," Abby starts to nod, but cuts the action short with a wince. 

"Careful," I say. Abby sticks her tongue out at me before reaching out and grabbing a departing Susan's hand.

"Susan? Thanks." 

Susan nods. "I'm so glad everything turned out fine."

"Me too," Abby agrees.

"But don't thank me," Susan tells her. "Thank Carter. He's the one who carried you in here."

"Better me than you," I say. 

"There's no way. I would have had to roll her across the street. Which would have been great for the baby and the concussion. So it's a good thing you were there," she says as she walks toward the door. "Abby? I'll see you later, okay?" 

"Okay," Abby says, raising a hand in farewell. 

"Does she know?" I ask curiously.

"Know?"

"About the baby. That I'm … the father." It still seems so unbelievable to me. I don't doubt it for a minute, but I'm having a hard time getting used to the idea. 

"Well, I think she does now. I didn't tell her. I refused to tell her. And it was driving her crazy. She kept trying to get it out of me. So I'm guessing she put it all together." 

"You think she figured it out?" 

"Between the way you had a death grip on my hand, and how you were getting all teary staring at the sonogram … yeah, I think she probably figured it out."

"Does she know that we … I mean, you and I … that we … well, about that night?"

"Not until now. But I'm guessing she figured that part out, too." 

"Oh, yeah. I guess so," I say with a chuckle. 

"John?"

"Yeah?" 

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For … carrying me in here … even though you have a bad back. For staying here with me." 

"I'm not going anywhere, Abby. And really, it's the least I could do. I feel so bad."

"About what? Getting me pregnant?" she asks sarcastically. 

"No. About making you fall." 

"You didn't make me fall." 

"But I was chasing you. Grabbing at your arm. I feel like it's all my fault."

"Well, not _all_ your fault." But she's joking. I can tell by the smile she gives me. She seems oddly friendly toward me now. Maybe it's because she's no longer trying to hide anything from me. Maybe it's just because she's not thinking clearly due to the head injury. Whatever the reason, I don't want to question it. I'm just glad she's no longer giving me the evil eye that I've become accustomed to the past few weeks. 

"It was so scary, Abby. Seeing you laying there like that, not responding. And I didn't even know about … the baby then. Which is probably a good thing, or I would have been a complete basket case. But now that I know … I can't tell you how guilty I feel." 

"You feel guilty? How do you think I feel?"

"You didn't do anything wrong." 

"Then how come it feels like I did?" Her voice is soft and quiet, and she's near tears again.

"Because you're being too hard on yourself. Accidents happen. And if anyone was to blame, it's me. If I'd have known …" I really do feel horrible about stressing her out, making her run from me. If I'd just let her go. Well, if I'd just let her go, I would still have no idea that she's having my baby. My baby. Abby's having my baby … I still find the concept mind-boggling.

"But you didn't. Because I didn't tell you."

"It's not your fault. And everything's fine."

"You're not mad?" 

"About … your fall? I told you, it was an accident." 

"No." 

"About the baby?"

"Well, about me keeping it from you."

"I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a little upset that you didn't tell me sooner. But I understand why you didn't. And I know now."

"I just … I thought it would be better for everyone if I didn't tell you." 

"I know. Did you really think you could keep it from me forever?"

"I don't know. I kept trying to come up with some story I could tell you … something that would seem plausible. I wasn't having much luck."

"You were gonna lie to me? About my child? You didn't want me to know … ever?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But then … then I saw you face as you were looking at that sonogram. I couldn't lie to you after that." She pauses for a moment, and then looks up at me with sheepish little grin. " And, of course, I knew that by then you'd probably figured it out."

"Still, you could have refused to admit it. You could have made us do things the hard way." 

"And this is the easy way?" 

"It's not necessarily going to be easy, but … thank you for being honest with me." 

"After weeks of lying by omission."

"That's in the past. Forget it. I know now. And we'll just move on from here." 

She nods slightly, carefully. "Okay."

"Okay." I give her a smile.

"Speaking of moving on … can I get out of here?" 

I hesitate for a moment, figuring she's not gonna like what I'm about to say. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"What?"

"I don't wanna take any chances. You have a concussion. And you're pregnant. It might not be such a bad idea to stay overnight for observation. Just to make sure." 

"I wanna go home," she says, her mouth setting in a stubborn line. 

"Alone? Abby, that's not a good idea. What if you fall asleep? You need to wake up every couple hours." 

"I'll set my alarm. Not that I'll need it -- my bladder gets me up every couple of hours anyway." 

"I don't think you should be alone."

"I'm not gonna stay here. I'm not." God, she's so stubborn. 

"Fine. On two conditions. One, everything is normal when I examine you. And two, you have someone to stay with you." 

"Fine," she concedes with an eye roll. 

She doesn't protest to the exam, and once I pronounce her to be neurologically and physically intact, it's just a matter of figuring out who can watch over her for the night. 

"Want me to ask Susan?"

"She's working," Abby tells me.

"How about Sam? You two seem pretty chummy these days."

"No, I wouldn't want to impose. She's got Alex to worry about." 

"Luka?" I ask, with just a bit of reluctance.

"And risk starting up the rumor mill again? No, thanks." 

"Neela?"

"London." 

"Morris?"

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"Well, I guess that just leaves one person."

"Let me guess: you." 

"Well, my shift ended somewhere in between cake in the lounge and getting the shock of my life. So I'm not working. There's nowhere I need to be. It's perfect." 

"A perfectly bad idea."

"Well who else is there? Besides, I'd just be there in a purely medical capacity. To make sure you … and the baby are okay. You don't want to take any risks do you? Not with the baby …"

"Oh," she sighs in frustration. "That wasn't right. Bringing the baby into it." 

"What can I say? I'm not gonna play fair when the well-being of you and my baby are involved."

She looks at me for a minute that feels more like an hour. She finally heaves a big sigh. "Fine."

"Okay, good." 

"I better not end up regretting this." 

"You won't. I swear. I'll be good."

"That's what you said last time … and look what happened." She glances down pointedly. 

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Can we please go?" 

"Absolutely. Let me just get my stuff. And yours?"

"Please."

"I'll bring my car around. And you can meet me in the ambulance bay."

"Okay."

"Do you think you can make it on your own?" 

"All the way to the ambulance bay? Gee, I don't know."

"Sarcasm really is your middle name, isn't it?" 

"Would you just go get the car?" 

"You promise not to try and escape while I'm gone?" This gets me an eye roll in response. "Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes." 

When I get outside the door, I turn back for moment, watching through the glass as Abby slowly and carefully gets up. I'm glad to see she doesn't stumble or collapse, but seems steady on her feet, just leaving one hand resting on the gurney, perhaps as a precaution. She glances down as her free hand strays to her belly. I can see the tears on her cheeks and the hint of a smile on her lips as she says something to the baby, rubbing the little bump under her shirt fondly. I can't hear the words she's saying, but I don't need to. Her every expression, every gesture speaks of the love that she feels for this baby … my baby. I reluctantly turn away from the scene in front of me, hating to leave even for a moment. But I smile to myself as I realize that it's time for me to take them home. To take Abby and our baby home. 


	8. Truce

Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea

Rating: R

Summary: Abby's pregnant. Who's the daddy? I'll give you three guesses, but the first two don't count.

Author's Note: Thanks to LISA, BETH, SANDY and HEATHER. Okay, I know I usually beg for reviews … and I do love them, but not if they are gonna do nothing but depress me. So you know … if you could hold the morbid, negative, depressing, unnecessary comments about ER and/or Carby I would appreciate it. Also, if you dislike a chapter enough to find it long and boring … how about you try … um, I don't know … not reading it. There are plenty of other shorter, less boring stories out there, so try one of them. I don't mind constructive criticism, but random negativity isn't something I need in my life. I have enough of that from other places, I count on the reviews to be a pleasant, uplifting experience. If I wanted to read morose thoughts about ER, I'd still be hanging out on the message boards. And if I wanted to hear how boring my story was, I'd pimp it out to CSI fans. So how about we go with this theme … if you can't say something nice (or constructive), don't say anything at all. If you have constructive criticism or comments or speculation about the direction of the story, bring it on. But if you just want to flame it for no reason other than to make up for your own personal deficits, you can take that somewhere else. As for the negative comments about ER … I understand, but that doesn't mean I want to be reminded of it in a review … there's a time and place, but not here, please. I'm trying very hard to stay in a positive frame of mind, and I can use all the help I can get. Hypocritical to beg for reviews and then complain about what they say? Absolutely … so I'm not begging for reviews this time. Review, don't review … whatever … just please don't bring me down. THAT's not gonna inspire me to write, after all.

* * *

**Serendipity**

Chapter 8: Truce

"Cut it out, Carter." I pull my arm out of his grasp.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I was just trying to help."

He's been trying to help ever since I got up off the gurney. He helped me out to his car, into the car, out of the car, up the steps to my building, and then kept his hand firmly on the small of my back as we made our way up the inside stairs. And now he's taken my elbow as if I need him to propel me through the door.

"I don't think I really need help to walk through my own front door," I say with a bit of exasperation since this whole over-protective routine is getting to be a bit much.

"I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay," I assure him. "And you know … I've gotten by just fine on my own the past four months." I smile so that he knows that there's no bitterness in that statement.

"Yeah, I know. But you have a concussion. I wouldn't want you to get dizzy and fall over again." He gives me what I imagine he thinks is a charming smile.

I just shake my head as I shove the door open and walk into my apartment, flipping on the lights and tossing my keys onto the table. After a moment, I realize he hasn't followed me in. I turn and look back to find him just standing at the door, looking lost.

"You can come in," I tell him. "Just make yourself at home." I drop my bag on one of the kitchen chairs and glance over at the answering machine. One message. Probably my mom … she calls almost every day to check up on me.

"I think that's what you said last time," Carter says with an uncomfortable chuckle.

I look at him standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking awkward and unsure of himself. "Yeah, well … maybe not _that_ much at home." It's still hard for me to imagine how things went from me answering my door to a find a forlorn and bedraggled Carter standing there to the two of us rolling around in my bed. Oh, I remember it all vividly. Him crying, me giving him a comforting hug. The longing looks we exchanged. The kiss I pulled away from. The kiss I didn't pull away from. The shock of electricity that ran through me when he touched me. The way the emotions and desires of the moment seemed to get the better of both of us. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but at that moment, I didn't care. I knew he wasn't mine anymore, but he was mine first. And I just wanted one more chance … one last time … a night to really savor … something of us to hold on to and remember. A way to end things on a good note. I thought it was the closure that we needed. I thought it was goodbye.

"I'm sorry," he says now, probably thinking about that night.

"Don't be," I tell him, patting my belly. "I'm not."

"Yeah, but I'm the one …"

I cut him off. "You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do."

"I started it."

"Yeah … but you weren't thinking clearly. I feel like I should being apologizing to you. I never should have let it happen. It was selfish. But just because it was what I … well, I had no right. I'm sorry. I'm _not_ sorry that it happened -- because of the baby. But, I mean, I'm sorry that this is gonna complicate your life. I'm sorry for what it means to you. But for myself? I'm not gonna lie … I'm glad it happened because if it hadn't …" I trail off. I can't find words to describe how awful it would be if I didn't have this baby that I didn't even know I wanted. I can't imagine it. I don't want to, really. "So you don't have to apologize to me. Besides, I'm not the one that you should be apologizing to."

He nods. "I guess I'm going to have some explaining to do."

"I would imagine so."

"Abby …"

"I'm going to take a shower," I announce, in an attempt to end the conversation.

"Not just to her. There's some things I need to explain to you, too. We need to talk."

I nod, slowly and cautiously, while trying not to bite off some sarcastic, possibly bitter, comment. "I know. But not now, okay?"

"Abby …"

"I'm gonna go take that shower now," I tell him, but I don't make a move toward the bathroom. Instead, I stand there in front of him, staring at him, watching him watch me. I'm waiting for something, although I couldn't say what. Finally, I see a subtle shift in his expression. The serious expression changes to one that is more concern than anything else with perhaps a touch of amusement.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Is what a good idea? Oh, yeah. The shower. "Well, yeah. I was lying on the ground in whatever filth is all over the El stairs. Not to mention that my belly got slimed and still feels sticky. I definitely need a shower."

"Yeah, but …"

"But?"

"Well, you know … I don't know if it's such a good idea in your condition."

"Pregnant people shower, too."

"I meant the concussion."

"I'm fine."

"You wouldn't want to fall over and hit your head again."

"I promise to be careful."

"What if you get dizzy? What if you get weak?"

I give him a blank stare for a moment. "You're not coming with me."

"I wasn't suggesting that." He sounds a little indignant.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"How about a bath?"

"I don't want to take a bath. I can manage to stand up for a whole ten minutes in the shower."

"Yeah, but what if …"

I cut him off with a frosty stare.

"At least leave the door open."

"So much for being here in a purely medical capacity."

"I mean, in case you fall," he says with exasperation.

"And what good will that do?"

"Well … at least I would hear you and could come and save you before you drown."

"Oh my God," I mutter as I turn to go into the bedroom. But I leave the door open. And after I've gathered up some clean clothes and gone into the bathroom, I leave that door open, too. I peer out once, and Carter's nowhere in sight, but presumably he's somewhere in earshot, listening closely for anything that might go amiss during such a dangerous activity as showering. As soon as I'm out and wrapped in a towel, I yell out to him, and he answers back, his voice sounding like it's coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. Once I'm dried and dressed, that's where I find him, standing at the stove, apparently attempting to cook something.

"I made it out alive," I say, letting him know that I wasn't defeated by the big, bad, scary shower.

He turns and gives me a smile. "Feel better?" I nod … a little too vigorously, apparently as a wave of pain shoots through my head. "Or maybe not," he says as I sink into a chair at the kitchen table.

"I'm okay. I just have to remember not to move my head too much."

"How's your stomach?"

I glance down. "Round."

That gets me a grin from him. "I meant how does it feel? Are you nauseous? Hungry? You should probably eat. Do you think you can eat?"

"Yeah, I think so. What did you make?"

"Eggs. It was going to be an omelet, but it kinda turned into scrambled eggs. Cheesy scrambled eggs. I hope you don't mind." I look up at him sharply, wondering if he's remembering, too. I'd made him an omelet that night. Somewhere after opening the door to find him standing there sad and lonely … but before the crying, the comforting, and the sex, some maternal instinct had kicked in, and I felt the need to take care of him. So I tried to feed him, as if that would somehow make everything better. Maybe he's operating on that same feeling now.

"No, I don't mind."

"I figured that as long as I didn't set the kitchen on fire, you wouldn't care if I cooked. And there's just something about breakfast food that's comforting, I think."

"Not to mention that eggs are full of protein. And iron. Stuff we need."

"Besides, it seemed only fitting. Since that's what you made for me."

So he does remember. "Yes, but I made an actual omelet," I say forking up some of my cheesy eggs. He just shrugs, not taking the bait, perhaps not wanting to risk our fragile truce on some meaningless banter. We eat on in silence for a while, John tossing glances at me every time he thinks I'm not looking.

"So?" He finally asks once my plate is scraped clean.

"Good," I tell him, assuming he was fishing for a compliment on his culinary skills. "Thanks."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh."

"SO?"

"So …" I ask, waiting for him to be a little more specific.

He gets up and clears the plates and glasses, taking them into the kitchen. "So … where do you want to start?" When I don't answer, he turns around and sends me a significant look. "We have a lot to discuss. Where do you think we should start?"

I shrug and then get up from the table, retreating to the couch and curling up into a corner. He follows me over and makes himself at home on the couch, right next to me. Maybe I should have stayed at the table. I pick up a pillow and put it in my lap, fiddling with the fringe on the edges of it. Something tells me that he's not gonna let me get away with putting this off any longer.

"Well …" I start, trying my best to stall.

"Well?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Abby, that's not … it's not about what I _want_ you to say … I just … want to know where we go from here." I just shrug. "You must have some plan," he insists. "I mean, you've had months to think about it." He doesn't sound mad or upset, just expectant. I guess it makes sense that I should be the one who's thought this out since, after all, he only found out a few hours ago. Like he said, I've had a few months. The only problem is that I never considered this particular scenario.

"I planned to do it on my own," I tell him.

"Oh." He studies me carefully, unrelenting in his gaze. "Is that what you really want?"

I shrug. Of course it's not what I really want. But what I really want … "I don't know what else would work."

"We could do it together. I want to be involved."

I shake my head slowly, getting up from the couch and walking over to gaze out the window. "I don't think so."

"Why not? It's my baby, too."

"Yeah, but it's not your only baby, is it? What do you plan to do, John? Have two separate families on opposite sides of the world? It'll never work. It can't possibly work."

"Abby, listen …"

"You know what? I really don't want to talk about this now. I've had a rough night, you know. I'm sore, I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed."

He nods, solemnly. "Of course. I wasn't thinking. You should get some rest. But I'm not sure you should sleep yet," he says, glancing at his watch.

"I think I'll be okay. You said yourself it was just a mild concussion. It's already been a few hours. Besides, you're here to keep an eye on me, right?"

"Yeah, but …"

"You can wake me up every hour on the hour if you want, but I just need … at least a little nap. You wouldn't believe the amount of sleep I need these days."

"I'm not sure I like this."

"You don't have to like it. But you are gonna have to give in because you're not gonna win."

"Okay. I guess. But I'll be in to check up on you in a little while."

"Okay … do you remember where everything you need is?"

"Yeah, I think I remember now." The look that he gives me holds me firmly rooted to the spot, staring at him. Don't do this to me, John. I shake my head gently in an effort to clear it. But the movement sends a flash of pain through my head, causing me to wince.

"You okay?" He asks. Before I can even reassure him that I am, he's off the couch and at my side. He takes my arm, steering me toward the bedroom. I guess he wants to tuck me in.

"John, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. But … thanks."

He drops my arm, apparently giving in. "You'll let me know if you need anything?"

"I promise."

"I'll be right here."

"I'll be fine."

"I know. But I'll still be right here."

I give him a small nod before turning and walking into the bedroom. No sooner do I get myself settled comfortably in bed than I realize I've forgotten the one thing that I can never do without these days -- that last trip to the bathroom. With a sigh, I heave myself out of bed and head toward the bathroom.

"Abby? What's wrong?" My God, what is he doing? Listening with a glass to the wall?

"Nothing," I call.

"What are you doing?"

"Bathroom," I say, using all my powers of restraint not to snap peevishly. I thought he was here to make sure that I didn't slip into a coma, not to log my every bodily function. On my way back to bed, I stick my head out the door to inform him of my whereabouts, and find him just sitting on the couch. He's not doing anything, just sitting there.

"Okay. I'm going to bed now. But you can … watch TV or whatever. It won't bother me."

"Okay."

"Okay." We sure do have a way with words. "Well … goodnight."

"'Night."

I wait for a moment, contemplating asking him if he's all right. Because he really doesn't seem quite all right, the way he's sitting there, lost in thought. But then, I guess I'm not the only one who's had a big night. I guess he's got a lot to get used to, too. In the end, I turn without saying another word and crawl back into bed. I expect that I will immediately fall asleep, but I find that the minute I close my eyes, my mind begins to whirl.

I can't stop thinking about everything that's happened in such a short time -- from my fall to the conversation that John and I just had. Or rather didn't have. I still can't quite grasp the fact that he knows. And I have no idea what to do about the fact that he seems happy about it and wants to be involved. I was so sure that if he ever found out, he would run screaming from the room, but instead, here he is. I still don't understand why. Because if I were him, I think I would feel like this was the worst news ever. That I'd been caught in an indiscretion, and that my whole life was ruined. But that's not how he's acting, and it's left me confused. Of course, maybe if we'd actually had that conversation, I would be a little closer to understanding. But I wasn't ready for that … not yet.

It's all too much for me to take in at once. I can't believe he knows. I can't believe how he found out. I can't believe I was stupid enough to run away from him, trip and fall. I can't believe that just a few hours ago I was lying unconscious on a gurney, waking up with a splitting headache to find a room full of concerned faces staring down at me, and Carter with a death grip on my hand while his gaze seemed to travel almost frantically between me and the image on the monitor. And then there was that image. My baby. Seeing it up there on the screen made it all so much more real. And seeing that everything looked fine was such a relief. Even now, knowing that I'm okay and that the baby's okay, the fear that I felt then is still palpable. But so is the relief and the joy that I felt. But God, just thinking about what might have been terrifies me all over again.

My hand strays to my belly at just about the same time that a sob breaks loose. Things could have gone the other way so easily. I could have lost the baby. It's a bleak realization. Not that I didn't know before that it was a possibility; after all, it's what I was so scared of when I first woke up. But I'm not sure that it sunk in until now. One wrong step, one slip … and if things had gone the other way, if I hadn't landed the way I did, if I hadn't gotten lucky, it could have all been over. But I did get lucky, somehow. I roll over , burying my head in the pillow to muffle the sounds of the crying that I can't control. I can't quite seem to stop. I'm not sure if the tears are from happiness and relief or from fear and guilt.

"Abby?" I'd probably tell him to leave me alone, but I can't stop crying long enough to get the words out. "Abby, what's wrong?" I feel him sit down on the edge of the bed next to me. He smoothes the hair back from my face and lets his hand rest on my shoulder. "Are you in pain?"

Yes, but not the kind he's asking about. "No," I manage to eek out.

"Then what is it?" He rubs my shoulder lightly, comfortingly. "Abby? You can talk to me." But I don't want to. I don't want to turn to him for comfort, even though I would love to do just that. It makes no sense, but there it is. "Is it about the baby?" I should have known he could guess.

I sit up and turn to look at him. I sniffle and wipe at my eyes with my hands. He hands me a tissue from the box on the bedside table and then reaches back over to flip on the lamp there. In the soft glow from the light, I can see the concern etched on his face.

"Abby …" His voice, soft and worried, trails off. I don't want to say anything, but for as long as I can remember there's been something about him that gets me to open up, even when I don't want to.

"I could have lost the baby," I say, my voice quavering. I bite my lip in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, but it doesn't work. I'm sobbing again. And then, even though I don't want to, I find myself throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest. "I could have lost the baby," I repeat, but this time it comes out more like a wail.

"But you didn't," he points out, holding me tight.

"But --"

"No, 'buts,' Abby. Your fall was an accident. Accidents happen." He rubs my back steadily, trying to soothe me. For what seems like a very long time, we're locked in that embrace, with him letting me cry into his t-shirt. "You can't blame yourself," he finally whispers into my ear. "Or worry about what _could_ have happened. You have to concentrate on the fact that everything turned out okay. You're okay. The baby's okay. That's all that matters now." His comforting words and touch seem to be working. The sobs subside, and I seem to be able to breathe more normally. "I know you're scared. God, I was _so_ scared. But it's over now. And everything's okay. Really."

I pull away from him, leaning back against the pillows. John reaches over with more tissues to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "Thanks," I say, taking the wad of damp tissues from his hand and finishing the job myself.

"Feel better now?" He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He gives me a hopeful smile.

"Not really." But I do manage a little smile.

He gives me a little nod, letting me know that he understands. "It'll get better."

"I hope so."

"It will," he assures me, giving my knee a friendly pat.

I try to stifle the yawn that slips out, but I can't seem to control that anymore than I could control the tears.

"You should get some sleep," he advises, standing up.

"John?" He stops halfway across the room and turns back to look at me.

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave?" It's more of a plea than a request.

He gives me a smile. "I'm not gonna leave, Abby. I'm here to take care of you and make sure you're okay; I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right on the couch."

"No. I mean … stay here. Please?" I can't believe I'm saying this. I know why I'm saying it, but I still can't believe the words are actually coming out of my mouth. "I just … I don't want .. I'm …"

He's already crossing back over to the bed. He takes my hand as he sits down on the other side of the bed … what used to be his side of the bed. "I know. How about if I stay here until you fall asleep?"

"Thanks."

"It's no problem, Ab. All you had to do was ask. And I'm glad you did." He settles back against the pillows looking perfectly content. I, however, after having asked him to stay, am finding myself unsure and uncomfortable. "I won't bite," Carter says with a chuckle, catching the look on my face.

"It's not _biting_ that I'm worried about," I say, trying to joke myself out of my anxious mood.

He puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I'm just here to keep you company."

"Just so long as that's understood." I give him a small smile. "Seriously, thank you. I'm not sure I could handle being alone right now."

"Sure you could. I don't think there's anything you can't handle. But I'm glad I could help. Now try to get some sleep."

I take his advice and try to settle in for the night. The only problem is, I can't seem to get comfortable. I try curling up on one side, and when that doesn't work, I flip over to the other side. I rearrange the pillows. I try lying under the comforter. I try pushing it off me. I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling, just to roll over on to my side and start the whole thing over again. Of course, it's hard to get comfortable enough to fall asleep when every time you close your eyes, the same vivid, scary images flood your brain.

"Abby?"

"Huh," I grunt in response, frustrated by the situation.

"You're making me seasick."

"It's not a waterbed." I can't help it that I'm a little restless. Maybe it's my body's way of telling me that I shouldn't be going to sleep at all just yet. But that would make Carter right. So that can't be it. More likely it's the way my mind keeps replaying the events of tonight.

"And yet, you're still managing to make me seasick. What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

Nothing like stating the obvious. Of course I can't sleep. If I _could_ sleep, I would already be asleep. "Guess not."

"You still upset?"

"No." Well, that's a lie. "Maybe." Closer to the truth. "I don't know." There. That's a safe answer, right?

"It's really okay. Everything's fine."

"I know. It's just that when … when I close my eyes, all I can see is myself falling. And then I can't help but think about what could have happened. And I just can't imagine …" The tears are threatening to fall again. Shut up, Abby. Just shut up.

"You really want this." He's not asking, just stating a fact.

"The baby? Of course I want it. More than anything."

"I got that idea. I've never seen you look as scared as you did when you woke up and were asking about the baby. I guess that's when I knew how much this must mean to you."

"Does that surprise you?"

"That you'd be a concerned, conscientious mother already? No. That you'd want to be a mother at all? Maybe. A little. I mean, I always thought …" he trails off with a shrug.

"Well … things change. And it's not like I exactly intended for this to happen. But once I found out about it … pretty much right away I knew there was only one option."

"To have my baby." I'm a little surprised to hear the pride and joy in his voice when he says that. I was so sure he would think it was the worst disaster of his life.

"I thought it might be my only at chance at something … wonderful. And I realized I didn't want to miss out on it. I wouldn't have chosen to get pregnant, but since I already was … and knowing about the baby suddenly I felt … I don't know. Happy, maybe. But not just happy … full of ... hope, I guess. Like suddenly things were getting better. There were all these possibilities that I'd never even realized were there. And all of a sudden, there was a reason to get up every day. You know, something more than just work. The baby just …"

"Changes everything," He finishes for me. I look at him, surprised. But, naturally, he would know all about that. I sigh audibly, thinking about how complicated this all is, not having the slightest idea how we might work this out. But John is apparently not worrying about the complicated situation. He's staring at me, or specifically, at my belly with a look of longing in his eyes.

"Can I?" He asks, reaching his hand out tentatively.

"Oh … Yeah, sure. You put it there; it's yours. I guess you have a right." I'm giving him a goofy little smile, but he pays no attention as he's too intent on getting his hands on my little bulge. His touch is soft and gentle as he rubs my stomach.

"Hi, baby," he says in a low voice. "I've been wanting to do that since the minute I saw that sonogram."

I'm not sure if he's talking to the baby or me, but since the baby isn't going to answer him, I figure I will. "From the very first minute?"

"Yeah."

"Did you know?" I figure he knows what, exactly, I'm asking about.

"Yeah. Once I did the math. I mean, I figured you wouldn't … well, I didn't think there would have been anyone else … at the same time. But even before I did the math, a part of me knew. I saw the baby and … it was like nothing I've ever felt before. I couldn't stop staring at the screen."

"I know exactly what you mean." And I do. Although I'm a bit confused about why he seems so awed by this experience. I would have thought it would be old hat by now.

"Abby?" He's looking at me now, almost imploringly, with his hand still resting on my belly. "Tell me what I missed?"

"What you missed? Not much. A lot of sleeping. A lot of eating. Some puking. Nothing too exciting."

"You don't want to tell me about it?"

"What's to tell? Luckily, it's been rather unremarkable."

"Well … I don't know. How did you find out?"

I chuckle at the memory. "Susan and Sam told me. In the ladies' room. Or rather, that's when they first suggested it. Of course, I didn't really believe it. So then we did a blood test and … then I knew."

"When was this?"

"A little more than two months ago."

"And you've kept it to yourself all this time?"

"Well, Susan and Sam know."

"And Luka?"

"Yeah. He gave me a ride home the night that I found out, actually. There was a slight incident of projectile vomiting all over his dashboard. He was worried. So I thought I should tell him."

"Anyone else?"

"Maggie. And Eric."

"Do they know?"

"I just said they did."

"No, I mean … do they know it's mine?"

"No one knows that. Except Susan, I guess, since I think she figured it out tonight."

"What were you going to tell everybody?"

"The same thing I'd been telling them. That it was none of their business. That the father wasn't a part of the equation."

"Is that what you were going to tell my baby?" It's the first time tonight that I've heard any anger in his voice. I can't say as I blame him for being upset or angry, but I hope he understands that this hasn't been easy on me, either. And I did it for him. To protect him from the inevitable scandal that would happen if everyone found out.

I sigh. "I don't know, John. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Most of the time, it was all I could do to get through each day."

"I thought you were happy."

"I am. About the baby. It's probably the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's already changed my life. I feel so lucky to have this chance … but I don't want to mess it up. So there's a lot of stress, too. I worry about doing things right. I worry about being a single mother, juggling work and a baby. Up until tonight, I was always worried about you finding out. And I _did_ worry about what to tell the baby … about its father … about you."

"Well, at least now you don't have so much to worry about. And you won't have to tell the baby anything about me. I'll be here to do it myself. I want to be part of the equation."

"Carter …"

"Abby. That's the one thing I'm sure of. I don't know how everything else is gonna get worked out. But no matter what I want to be a part of this child's --our child's-- life. I don't care what else it might cost me. It's my baby."

With that, he leans down and plants a kiss on my belly. For a long moment, he stays that way, lips touching the bulge, eyes closed. Then he softly lays his head down, his cheek pressed up against my bare stomach. Dammit, if he didn't get me again. I hate this. Why can't I resist him? But I can't. No matter how hard I try.

"Okay," I say, finding my hand, almost of it's own volition, coming to rest on top of his head.

"Okay, what?" He asks, turning his head to look at me.

"Okay … we'll find a way to do this together."

"Really?" His whole face lights up and if he had a tail, I'm sure he'd be wagging it.

I heave another sigh. I hope to hell I won't regret this later. "Yeah."

"Thank you." His voice is quiet and close to tears. "You won't be sorry." There he goes, reading my mind again.

"I hope not."

"I promise … Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"What made you decide?"

"That look on your face just now. When you kissed my belly. I realized … you already love it, too. I didn't think that anyone else in the world would just automatically love this baby the way I do. But you do. And I don't … I don't want to deny this baby that kind of love. It wouldn't be fair. To any of us. But John? You can't change your mind."

"I won't."

"It's forever."

"I know that."

"No matter what."

"It's my child, Abby. It's my responsibility, but it's not a burden. It's what I want to do. It's what I want to do more than anything. It doesn't matter what else is going on in our lives … the baby will come first."

"Yeah, but you …"

"It's doesn't matter, Abby. I'll find a way to work it out. But I can promise you that this child will be taken care of. And I'm gonna be there for her no matter what?"

"Her? You have a feeling or did you see something on that sonogram?"

"More like I just picked a pronoun. I didn't want to keep calling our baby 'it.' Our baby. Wow. I still can't believe it."

"Tell me about it. I've known for two months, and I still can't believe it."

"We're gonna have a baby," he says, turning his face back toward my belly so that he can plant more kisses and whisper sweet nothings to the baby.

"Yeah, _we're_ gonna have a baby." I just hope I'm not making the biggest mistake of my life. But maybe I'm not. Not if Carter's apparent instant attachment to the baby is any indication. He still seems to want nothing more than to use my stomach as a pillow.

"Hi, baby," he whispers again. "I'm … your daddy. So get used to this voice, you'll be hearing a lot of it from now on. At least, if I have anything to say about it. I'm sorry I didn't know about you sooner … but I know now, and that's all that matters. But I promise I'm not gonna miss out on anything else if I can help it. And even if I can't always be here … I'll be here for you." He pulls himself away from the baby for a minute to look at me. "I mean that, Abby. I'm not gonna let you or the baby down. I promise."

I want so much to believe that. But I'm not sure that I can. I know he has the best of intentions, but … But I don't bring it up, I just smile. "I know."

"You said yourself that I'm gonna be a good dad."

"I'm sure you are."

"I'm gonna do it for this baby, Abby. Because it's what I want for myself, but mostly because it's what I want for the baby. _Two_ parents. I know it won't be perfect, but it'll be okay. And at least the baby will always know that she has a mom and a dad to love her."

"There you go with that 'she' thing again. I'm starting to think we should have looked." He just shrugs and puts his head back down on its favorite resting place. "You gonna stay like that all night?"

"If you'll let me."

"I don't think I could stop you."

"Probably not."

"Then I guess I won't even try. Besides, it wouldn't be right to come between a daddy bonding with his baby, would it?"

"Hey, you just called me daddy."

"Well, that's what you want to be, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then …"

I can feel the smile that spreads across his face. I can feel a smile spread across my face, in spite of myself. For a while we stay that way, not talking or moving, just … being. Finally, I seem to be relaxed enough to fall asleep, and find myself drifting off. That's why, when I first feel something, that it doesn't register. It seems like part of a dream at first. But then, I suddenly realize that I'm not asleep yet. I sit up abruptly, knocking Carter off his cherished position.

"What's wrong?" he asks instantly, looking around somewhat bewildered. I guess I wasn't the only one on the edge of sleep. "Abby?" He's staring at my hand on my belly.

"I felt something."

"What? What is it? Cramps? Pain?" He sounds alarmed, understandably.

"No, no. It's nothing like that. I'm fine. I just felt … something."

"What? What did it feel like?"

I find myself giggling as I tell him, "It felt like gas."

"You have gas?" He looks confused.

"No. It just felt like gas."

"So you are having cramps?" He's back to sounding alarmed.

"No. Not gas _pains_, just, you know … like when you get a little bubble. You feel it, but it doesn't hurt."

"So what is it?"

"It's the baby. I can feel it."

"The baby?" he echoes, sounding dumbfounded. And then he smiles at me. "Is this the first time?"

"Yeah."

"And I was here for it."

"It's lucky that it happened tonight."

"I'll say." His hand takes the place of mine on my stomach.

"You're not gonna be able to feel anything," I remind him. "I can barely feel it, it'll be weeks until it's strong enough for you to feel."

"I know. But I can still feel your round belly. And know that my baby's in there. And at least you can feel it moving around now."

"Sort of. Mostly it's just little flutterings … but, especially after what happened tonight, I'm so glad I can feel something … even if it's just flutters. Now I really know that everything's all right."

"I keep telling you that everything's fine," he says lightly, teasing me.

"I know. And I could see for myself on the sonogram. But feeling it … I don't know. Somehow that's different. More reassuring, I guess. Because …"

"You can feel it?" I can't tell if he's teasing me or not.

"Yeah, Literally and figuratively. And it's a way to always know that everything's okay without constantly running for the sonosite."

"Lucky you."

"Don't worry, I'll keep you informed."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"There it was again. See?"

"Did you really feel something?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad I was here for it."

"I told you didn't miss anything important. You got to be here for the first big moment."

"Just so long as I'm here for the rest."

My sentiments exactly. "As long as you will be, I'll let you."

"As long as you let me, I will be." I roll my eyes at that. "So what does that mean? Do we have a deal?"

"More like a truce."

"A truce? Were we fighting?"

I give him a look.

"Okay, okay. A truce. And a deal. Right?"

"Right …"

"As long as I'm involved, you'll let me be involved?"

"Something like that. I guess."

"Not exactly dripping with enthusiasm, but I'll take it." He looks at me for a moment, his eyes growing serious. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. You have a right. I'm just glad you don't hate me … for keeping it from you."

"I could never hate you. Besides, I think I know why you didn't tell me. So … thanks for that, too."

"You don't have to thank me for that either. Just … keep your promise."

"I will. You don't have to worry about that. I'm not gonna do anything to hurt the baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"I've heard that before."

"I'm not gonna disappear on you again. Not this time." I don't have a response so I just look at him. "You don't believe me."

"I want to. But I don't know if I can take a chance on that. Not when there's more than just my feelings to consider. I can stand it, but a kid …"

"I wish I knew how I could convince you. I wish I knew what I could say."

"There isn't anything you can say. It's just gonna take … time."

"To prove myself?"

"I guess."

"Well, I'm just glad to have the chance." He settles down on the pillow next to me, leaving his hand on my belly.

"Me too," I say, although I don't think my meaning is quite the same as his. Then again, maybe I do have something to prove … to myself if no one else. And this will be a chance to do just that. But this time, I don't have much choice but to get it right. And I will. No matter what. Even if it means letting Carter back into my life, taking another chance on him. I'm just so grateful for the opportunity to have this child in my life, that I couldn't very well deny him the same opportunity. It wouldn't be fair. Not to him or me. But mostly not to the baby. And he's right; no matter what else happens, we have to put the baby first. For me that means giving John a chance to prove himself, even if it means risking the possibility that he won't come through on all the promises he made. I'm pretty sure that I can do that. I'm going to do that. For the baby. I know I can do whatever it takes to make sure this child has what it needs. And watching him now, leaning down again to talk to my belly with a goofy smile on his face, I think that maybe he can do it, too, whatever else it might cost him. I certainly hope that he can because even though I didn't want to let it happen, even though I didn't want to need him … we're counting on him now.


	9. Bombshell

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Title: Serendipity_

_Author: Andrea_

_Rating: R, I think. I don't remember. What's it say at the top there? _

_Spoilers: None. Unless you are still stuck in season 9. _

_Summary: Abby's having a baby. And, in a shocking turn of events, it was revealed that Carter is the daddy. Since Abby had just fallen on her head, Carter took it upon himself to be her baby-sitter. When last we saw them, they were lounging around Abby's bed discussing all manner of minutia. What happens next? Read on. _

_Author's Note: Big ups to LISA for the editing. So this one is sort of short and sweet. I may have something else up my sleeve. So if you like this and want some more, you know what to do. But please remember that just like my fics, I too, am spoiler free. So please, let's keep the reviews and e-mails that way, too. Thanks and enjoy!_

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_**Chapter 9: Bombshell**_

Just pick up the phone, I tell myself. Just call her. What's the big deal? You know you're gonna end up doing it eventually, so just do it now. I glance at the clock and try to figure out what she might be doing. She's probably busy. Maybe I should wait until later. I sigh. This is so stupid. I feel like a junior high school kid, afraid to call the girl he likes. What exactly do I think is going to happen, anyway? No time like the present. I pick up the phone and dial.

"Hello?" she answers, not sounding especially harried which I think is probably good.

"Hi."

"Oh, hi." I think she sounds glad to hear that it's me. It's only as I relax that I realize just how tense I've been.

"I wasn't sure I would catch you."

"Well, you did," she says, amused.

"So you're not too busy at the moment?"

"Not at the moment, no." Now she sounds a little tired. I can guess what that means.

"Bad day?"

"Well ..."

"Busy?"

"Always."

"Yeah. So ... how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"But?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a little tired. But I guess that's to be expected."

"You work too hard."

"John ...I'm fine, really."

"I know. But it wouldn't hurt you to take it easy."

"When I need to rest, I do. Okay?"

"Okay. So ... how's the baby?"

She hesitates a moment, and I worry that she's upset with me, having taken my question about the baby all wrong.

"I didn't mean ..." I start, wanting to explain, but she cuts me off.

"I know. The baby's ..." I can hear the smile in her voice, and imagine how it must be playing across her lips, even as her hand unconsciously wanders to her belly. "The baby's great."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hey," I say, a sudden inspiration coming over me, "Let me talk to the baby."

"What?"

"Come on, please?"

"How do you expect me to arrange that?" I think she's laughing at me.

"Just put the phone to your belly."

"Put the phone to my belly?" She's clearly skeptical.

"Yeah. Please?" I hear a sigh at the other end. "I think it's important that the baby hear my voice as much as possible." I can imagine the look, somewhere between bemusement and exasperation, that's probably on her face now.

"Fine. I can't believe I'm doing this ... okay, go ahead. Talk to the baby." I hear some rustling over the phone, and don't hear the sound of her breathing, so I choose to believe that she really has put the phone up to her belly. Of course, I realize she may not have done any such thing and will be listening to every word I say, laughing at me. But hey, if I can amuse her in any way ...

"Hi, baby," I say. "Hi in there. I just wanted to say hello. I want to make sure you know my voice. And I just wanted to tell you that --"

"John?" There's an urgency to her voice now.

"Yeah?"

"I have to go."

"Okay, but --"

"I'm sorry."

"Call me later," I call in to the phone. But she's already gone.

I hang up the phone, and sit staring at it for a moment. Now what? All that build up for _that_? I didn't even get to say the things that I wanted to say. That I needed to say. And now I have to wait. So what am I going to do now? Sit by the phone and wait for her to call? Try to figure out a good time to call her back? I sigh and flip on the TV, intending to spend the next few hours in a vegetative state. Mostly, though, my mind keeps turning over all the things that I'd rather not think about. Kem ...and the baby. Abby ... and the baby. This impossible situation that I've managed to get myself into. I know that someone that I care about is going to end up getting hurt. And there are two innocent children caught in the middle. I have to make sure that they don't suffer because of the decisions that I've made. I have to put them first. They only problem is, I don't see how I can possibly give them what they both need. And how can I choose? It's an impossible decision. Except, of course, that deep down, I already know what it is that I want. I just don't know if what I really want is feasible. And if it is ... would it be the right thing to do? So much depends on Abby and Kem. And what it is that _they_ really want. I've made them both promises. But I'm not sure I'll be able to keep all those promises. Or maybe I just don't want to. Still, I have an obligation ...

My thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell. I make my way to the door in somewhat of a daze and open it up to the last person I expected to find.

"Abby." I'm sure the surprise is obvious in my voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry," she says immediately with an embarrassed smile. "I should have called first. I just thought ... never mind. I should go," she says with a wave of her hand, dismissing whatever idea was behind her visit. She turns as if to leave.

"Wait. Abby, don't go." I almost reach out to grab her arm, but stop myself in time. I wouldn't want to send her falling down the stairs yet again.

"If you don't want me here ... if it's a bad time ..."

"No, it's not that. I just wasn't expecting you. But I'm glad you're here." She looks at me, biting at her lower lip, considering something. "Really."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Come on in." I hold the door open for her, and she steps in, with just a little bit of trepidation. "So ... this is a pleasant surprise."

She looks at me with an expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Well, you sounded a bit desperate on the phone."

"I did?"

"Carter. You made me hold the phone up to my belly so you could talk to the baby. "

"You really did it?"

"Yeah." She's trying not to smile, but it's not really working. "Right there at the admit desk. I'm sure now everyone thinks I'm crazy."

"I'm sure no one even noticed."

"I guess not or they probably would have started asking nosy questions."

"You still haven't made the big announcement, huh?"

"Nope."

"When are you going to?"

"I'm ... not."

"Don't you think people will figure it out? Sooner or later it's gonna become pretty obvious."

"Fine. Let them figure it out. But until then ... it's none of their business anyway."

"Yeah. But ..."

"So this is your house, huh?" I guess she wants to change the subject, and I guess I'll play along.

"Yeah, come on in." I lead the way to the living room.

"I like it," she says, looking around.

"Thanks. It needs some work, but ... nothing a little paint won't fix, I guess."

"No, it's really nice and ... oh my God, _Carter_." She's standing by the fireplace, looking at something on the mantle. Oh, I think I know what's caught her attention. "I can't believe you framed this. You _framed_ the sonogram picture?" She holds it up, in case I'm not sure what she's talking about.

"No. I just ... put it in a frame."

"What's the difference?" she asks with a chuckle as she sits down on the couch, framed picture still in hand.

"Well, the way you said it, it makes it sound so ridiculous ... like I took it and had it custom framed or something. I just stuck it in a frame I already had. You know, so it wouldn't get all messed up. Besides, you probably framed one, too. Or put it up on the fridge."

She smiles slowly. "On the fridge."

"I bet you have one in your bag, too."

"My wallet, actually."

"Me too."

She runs her finger over the framed image fondly before putting the picture down on the coffee table and settling back against the couch.

"God, are we pathetic or what?" She asks, looking over at me.

"Not pathetic. Proud. Excited. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that."

"Maybe. But I keep having this feeling that I'm going to turn into one of those obnoxious parents who, every time someone casually asks about the baby, whips out an entire book of pictures and expects glowing exclamations over each and every one."

"So? There's nothing wrong with that, either. And besides, you don't even seem to want to tell people about the baby's existence, I hardly think that anyone needs to worry about you bothering them with a thousand pictures."

"Don't say it like that."

"What?"

"That I don't want anyone to know about the baby. You make it sound like I'm ashamed of it. And I'm not. It's not that; I just want to protect ... it just seems easier right now to not tell the whole world. But I don't think that I can keep it a secret forever. And I wouldn't want to, either. Besides, there's a difference between just not telling everyone and trying to hide it." She seems a bit sensitive about this subject, tearing up a bit as she speaks.

"I know, Abby."

We sit in a somewhat strained silence for a few minutes while I try to figure out a way to get us talking again ... about a safe subject.

"So ..." I finally try, "You really like the house?"

"Yeah." She turns her head and looks at me again. "Yeah. It's very ... you."

"You think so?"

"Uh-huh. It's nice. But not pretentious. Comfortable. Spacious. A little bit fancy, comparatively speaking, but not too fancy. It seems like a good fit."

"Yeah?"

"I think it's perfect."

"Kem doesn't think so." The words pop out of my mouth before I realize what I'm saying. I glance over at Abby quickly, sheepishly, expecting her to look hurt or upset.

Instead, very matter-of-factly she asks, "She doesn't like it?"

"She hates it."

"She _hates_ it?" Abby sounds a little skeptical.

"Well maybe 'hate' is too strong a word ... but she certainly doesn't think it's perfect. Or even comfortable. I think maybe she preferred Gamma's place."

"She preferred the mansion to a nice, comfortable home?"

"Well, she seemed disappointed when I showed her this place."

"She's probably just not used to it," Abby says, waving her hand in that dismissive gesture again. "I'm sure it's nothing like Africa."

"No. Not at all."

"That must be hard for her."

"Yeah, I don't think she really likes it here."

"This house? Or Chicago?"

"America."

"Oh." Abby falls silent for a moment and then looks over at me with curiosity. "Is that why she went back again so soon this time?"

"Not exactly. She was supposed to stay and have the baby here, you know." She nods. "But then there was ... an emergency."

"Her family?"

"Her work."

"She runs an AIDS trial, right?"

"Yeah."

"Important work."

"Hmm ... I understand why she had to go, but ..."

"So why didn't you go with her?"

I shrug. It's a good question. One I've been contemplating myself. I'm not sure I know the answer. Or maybe I do, but I'm not sure I'm ready to admit it yet. So I give the easy answer. "It came up so suddenly, I guess. I didn't have time to get everything sorted out."

Abby nods, as if in understanding. "So I guess she won't be back before the baby is born."

"No. She really shouldn't have been traveling that far when she went back to Africa. Hell, it was pushing it for her to be traveling that far when she came back here. Of course, that wasn't exactly the plan, either, but ..." I trail off, not wanting to say anymore.

"So when's she due?"

"Any day now."

The surprise registers on Abby's face. "Oh yeah. That's right. So ... when do you leave?"

Another shrug. "I don't know."

"You don't have plans to go?"

"Well ... I _had_ plans to go."

She looks at me suddenly, a flash of understanding obvious in her face. "Last week?"

"Yeah," I admit reluctantly. "But then ..."

"But then ... yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was my choice. I wanted to be here."

"But John ... she's about to have your baby."

"My baby is here," I say, quietly. I gently lay my hand on top of her own, both hands resting on her belly.

"He's your baby, too. You should be there." I shake my head slightly. She pulls back away from me, shaking my hand off. She gives me a very stern look, and her voice is firm when she speaks. "John. You can't ignore him. You can't neglect him like that. He's your son."

"No, he's not."

"What?" She sounds utterly confused as she moves further away from me, studying me.

I sigh and sit back, knowing it's time to come clean with her. "He's not my son, Abby."

"What ... what do you mean?"

"It's not my baby."

"But ..." She's flustered, and understandably so. She doesn't seem to know what to do with this information. Or maybe it hasn't really sunk in yet.

"Not ... biologically. I'm not the biological father."

"You're not?"

"No."

"Oh." She pauses a moment, and then asks hesitantly, "How ... I mean ... well ... when did you find out?"

"I've always known."

"Really." She looks down at her hands, and after a moment back up at me with the inevitable question. "But then ... why?"

Something else I often ask myself. I wish I had an answer. I shrug and give Abby a half-hearted smile. "I don't know. I guess ... she needed me."

"Wow," Abby says in a tone I have a hard time identifying. Wistful maybe. A little awestruck, but maybe also ... hurt? I look over at her in time to see her look quickly away, trying to hide the tear rolling down her cheek. She wipes the tear away, clearing her throat. She turns to me and pastes on a smile. "You must really love her."

Another shrug. It's all I can do. I open up my mouth and try to say something. "I ..."

"Well ... I mean to accept someone else's baby as your own ... she must mean an awful lot to you."

"No. I mean ... it's not like that. It's just ... "I trail off with a sigh, not knowing how to explain or where to start. Abby's watching me. Waiting for an explanation. So I'll try. I take a deep breath and plunge in. "When I decided to stay in Africa ... I was looking for something ... something to fill up this hole inside of me. At first I thought just being there would do it. Working, helping people, really making a difference. But it ... it wasn't what I really wanted. I didn't think I could ever have what I really wanted." Our eyes meet and I hold her gaze for a moment before she looks away, and I go on. "And then Kem came along and ... I liked ... feeling needed. I liked that she didn't mind needing me. I liked that it seemed so ... easy. And then there was the baby. I didn't care that it wasn't mine. It would be mine in the ways that are really important. I didn't think it would matter. And it probably wouldn't have ... I mean, you fall in love with them no matter where they came from. I know that's true. But what I didn't know ... what I couldn't imagine is what a difference it can make when ..." I pause for a moment, not sure how to say what I'm feeling. I reach out and put my hand over her stomach once again. "The moment I saw this baby on that sonogram ... I don't know. There was just this instant ... connection. Like nothing I've ever felt before. I had no idea. And I couldn't have imagined that it would make such a difference."

"You mean, because it was yours?"

I nod. I reach forward and pick up the sonogram picture, staring at the image that I already have memorized. "Or because it's ... ours. The moment I realized that _your_ baby was probably _our_ baby ... it was instantaneous. This attachment. This ... love. How can you feel such love for someone who doesn't even have a name?"

"Or a sex. Well, it has a sex. We just don't know it. But I know what you mean. I ask myself the same thing everyday. But I think you love them just because they're yours. You know?"

"Yeah. Exactly. It seems a little narcissistic, but I just keep looking at this picture and thinking 'I made that.' "

"You didn't do it alone," she reminds me, with an elbow poke to my side.

"I just didn't know that the biology would matter so much." I fall silent for a moment, not sure if I should share what I'm thinking. But then I look at her, and like always, I can't help but open up. "I kept waiting ... waiting to feel some kind of attachment to ... the baby. Kem's baby. And I kept telling myself that it would happen. That I should just give it time. But then ... with this one ... this baby seemed so ... real. Right away. And I love it already. Maybe it's just because its ... ours." I gently brush an errant strand of hair behind her ear, let the backs of my fingertips graze her cheek. "Maybe when you feel this strongly about the baby's mother, you can't help but love the child you've made together."

"Carter ..."

"Abby. Look, that night? It happened for a reason."

"Yeah. You were upset. And I was stupid. There, that's two reasons."

"You weren't stupid. You were there for me when I needed you."

"Well, I shouldn't have been there for you like that. It wasn't right."

"But maybe it was meant to happen. Even if you don't think it was right."

"If _I _don't think it was right? And what? You do?"

"Well ... I just don't think it was entirely wrong."

She laughs mirthlessly at that. "How can it be 'not entirely wrong' when you were cheating on your girlfriend? With me as your willing accomplice?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, _that_ was wrong. The circumstances maybe. But not the act. And look what a beautiful thing is gonna come from it."

"That's still doesn't make it right."

"But that doesn't mean that it wasn't supposed to happen."

"So now it's fate's fault. It was destiny?"

"Yeah, maybe," I say with a smile. "But listen, Abby, for whatever reason it happened, it _did_ happen. Right or wrong. And now there's a baby. Our baby. _My_ baby. And I choose not to think of it as a mistake, but rather as something that was meant to be."

"And what about Kem? And ... her baby? No matter what the situation is, she's still counting on you. And that baby still needs you."

"My baby needs me, too. And now that I know what _real_ feels like ... I don't think I can go back to pretending. I wanted it to be real ... so badly. I was willing to do anything to have what I thought I wanted. But now it turns out that it's not what I wanted at all."

"John ..." she close to tears, and her voice has a pleading quality to it.

"I'm not in love with her, Abby. How could I be ... when I'm still in love with you?"


End file.
